


The Best Lies

by terma_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Episode: s02e25 Anasazi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-01
Updated: 2001-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:00:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 55,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26535475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terma_archivist/pseuds/terma_archivist
Summary: A DNA test sends Mulder on a quest to discover the truth about his sister, leading to a mysterious database and an old enemy. Follows ""Anasazi.""
Relationships: Alex Krycek/Fox Mulder
Kudos: 1
Collections: TER/MA





	1. A Leap of Faith

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [TER/MA](https://fanlore.org/wiki/TER/MA) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the TER/MA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/terma/profile).  
> A novel in five parts Part One: A Leap of Faith Part Two: Picture in a Wallet Part Three: Shifting Sands Part Four: The Best Lies Part Five: Book Two A Perfect Life

  
**The Best Lies**

Part One: A Leap of Faith   
by Cody Nelson 

  
**STRATEGO**

I win again.   
Oh, don't be such a baby, Sam.   
Of course I win. I'm older than you.   
Stronger. Smarter.   
One day you'll catch up. Till then,   
I'll protect you. Watch out for you.   
That's what big brothers are supposed to do. 

Want another game?   
Don't listen to them, Samantha.   
Fighting is what grownups do.   
It's nothing to do with us. And anyway,   
I won't let them hurt you.   
Of course I promise. Now let's play.   
With me, you're safe from everything— 

Except losing another game of Stratego.   


Special Agent Fox Mulder wadded up the piece of paper he'd been doodling on, leaned back in his chair and tossed it across the room, where it struck the rim of the waste basket, bounced off the wall, and fell into the trash.   
"Two points," he announced.   
His partner, Dana Scully, sat across the room at her own desk, chin in her hand, chewing on the end of her pencil. She looked up, took the pencil out of her mouth, and said, "What's the score?"   
"Three hundred twelve to a hundred ninety-six."   
She frowned slightly, then tore a sheet of paper from her notebook, crumpled it up, concentrated for a moment, then launched it towards the waste basket. It arced across the room and fell smoothly into the basket. "Hundred ninety-eight."   
Mulder grinned. "Too bad you're so short. You could have been a power forward."   
She allowed a slight smile. "What's your excuse?"   
Mulder's cellular phone rang. Still grinning, he pulled the phone from his pocket and switched it on. "Mulder."   
"Mulder, I've got something. You have to see this." Langly's voice was urgent and conspiratorial.   
"What is it?" Mulder leaned casually back in his chair and loosened his tie. To Langly, everything was a conspiracy. No need to get excited.   
"Not on the phone. How soon can you get here?"   
Mulder exchanged a look with Scully. She lifted an eyebrow curiously. Mulder just grinned.   
"I'm working, Langly," Mulder said into the phone. Scully's look of curiosity turned into a knowing smile.   
"Mulder, you really want to see this. Make it as soon as you can. Come alone." The connection was severed abruptly. Mulder hung up his phone, sighing.   
"What did he want?"   
Was it just Mulder's imagination, or was there a suggestion of worry in Scully's tone? Mulder knew she didn't care for the men at the Lone Gunman; she thought they were irresponsible and likely to get Mulder into trouble. She'd been more than usually protective of him lately. Well, that was natural; he'd just spent three weeks in the hospital after nearly being incinerated in a burning train car. He'd been just as protective of her after her abduction last year. "He wants to show me something."   
She grinned. "Something in latex?"   
He returned her grin, shrugging. "He wouldn't say. It's probably nothing, but—do you mind if I go over there? We're not very busy right now."   
She nodded. "All right." But she watched him with thoughtful eyes as he shrugged into his jacket and left. 

* * *

"This is Scully's blood, which I extracted from the handkerchief you gave us after she turned up in the hospital last year," Langly said, holding up the small vial, filled with pale, pink-tinged liquid. He pushed his heavy black glasses up onto the bridge of his nose.   
Mulder nodded. Frohike sat at the desk with his arms folded, staring somewhere to the left of Mulder's shoulder. Byers stood leaning against a tableful of electronic equipment, watching Langly with an inscrutable frown. Neither said a word. Mulder found their grim silence a bit unnerving. Usually, the three of them nattered on like a bad vaudeville routine.   
Langly held up another vial, this one of viscous red. "And this is the sample of your blood you gave to me after your experience with LSDM. Well, since I had them both, I decided to run a DNA comparison on the two blood samples."   
Mulder blinked. Since I had them both.... Definitely, a man with too much time on his hands. But he couldn't quite bring himself to make the obvious quip. He was feeling too uneasy about this whole thing. "And... ?"   
Langly handed him the readout. "Can you read DNA profiles?"   
Mulder studied the report carefully. The two side-by-side strips, vaguely resembling bar codes, were his and Scully's DNA patterns. Lines ran between the two strips, connecting similar patterns of genes. Numbers covered the margins. "What does this mean? Fifty percent match?"   
"It means that Scully's your sister."   
Mulder tried to laugh, and failed. "That's funny, Langly. Now are you through wasting my time? I've got work to do."   
Langly just shrugged. "No joke, Mulder. DNA doesn't lie."   
Mulder looked to the other two for help. But Byers just stared at him, and Frohike wouldn't even meet his eyes. "It has to be a mistake. There's no way Scully could be my sister."   
"Well, she could also be your mother. Or your daughter, if you like that better. I ran the tests twice, and the results were identical. Unless the blood samples aren't what you said they were...."   
"Well, you took my blood yourself. And Scully's...." He'd gotten that at the hospital, from the man who'd stolen it from her hospital room. It had to be Scully's blood, didn't it? But if it wasn't Scully's blood, whose was it? Someone who was closely related to Mulder... Samantha?   
"Oh my God." Mulder forced himself to take a deep breath. "I thought it was Scully's. Maybe it wasn't. I'll check into it. Can I take this?" He held up the DNA test results.   
Langly nodded. "I've got other copies."   
Mulder folded the printout and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. Blindly, he turned to leave.   
Langly's voice stopped him at the door. "Mulder? I'm sorry. I thought you would want to know."   
Mulder turned back, tried once again to force a smile. But he couldn't get a word past his dry throat. 

* * *

"Mulder, will you quit staring at me like that? You're making me nervous."   
Mulder started. "Sorry. I was thinking." _Searching your face for the slightest resemblance to me or anyone in my family. Wondering how the hell I'm going to ask you to take a DNA test with me._   
"Thinking about what? Does this have anything to do with what Langly wanted?"   
"Sort of. Scully, if I asked you to do something... strange, not ask any questions, just do it, would you?"   
She raised an eyebrow. "How strange?"   
"Well... come with me to a lab, and have blood drawn for a DNA test."   
The eyebrow lifted even further. "No questions?"   
"Once we get the results, I'll tell you everything. It's probably nothing. I don't want to say anything until I know for sure."   
Scully regarded him thoughtfully. Mulder could see the curiosity sparkling behind her blue eyes; she was itching to know what it was about, but she did not ask. He watched as she weighed the possibilities, and made her decision.   
"All right. I guess I can spare you a few minutes and little blood." There was an amused quirk at the corners of her mouth. "I'm going to be dying of curiosity until we get the results."   
Mulder found it difficult to return her smile. _If we get the same results that Langly did, you'll probably wish you didn't know._

* * *

All the way back to FBI headquarters from the Lone Gunman offices, Mulder had worried over what to do. Obviously, he had to confirm Langly's test results; that was the first thing to do. He had pondered whether to go to the FBI labs or a private laboratory. The FBI's DNA analysis unit was the best, no doubt about that; it was also the fastest. But Mulder's paranoia had reached new heights since his father was killed, and he himself had nearly been incinerated. He no longer "trusted no one"—he now actively distrusted everyone. Except Scully, of course, although in his darkest moments he occasionally suspected even her. And perhaps the Lone Gunmen, who, while not exactly white knights, were too iconoclastic and paranoid themselves to participate in anyone else's plots. If, somehow, he was being set up, his enemies would expect him to go to the FBI labs. Test results could disappear or be altered. There were black ops moles within the FBI—one had to look no farther than Alex Krycek for evidence of that.   
And, if the results did show some sort of genetic relationship between him and Scully, he did not want that information in the FBI's files.   
There were several private laboratories in Washington that did DNA testing. The director of Quaid-Markham Laboratories owed Mulder a favor. Mulder had called Don Markham on his cellular while still en route to the J. Edgar Hoover Building, and wheedled an immediate appointment for himself and Scully.   
Scully remained silent all through the ride to Quaid-Markham. Whatever questions she must have been dying to ask she kept firmly to herself. Her faith in him, her willingness to play along even as she bit her lip to keep her curiosity in check, soothed Mulder's raw nerves.   
_I don't know what I would do without you, Scully. What will it do to us, if this turns out to be true?_ Several times, he nearly turned the car around and drove back to FBI headquarters. _Sorry, Scully. It was just a bad joke of Langly's._ But he knew that it would burn away at him until he knew the truth. He hoped with all his heart that Markham's results would show them to be just two ordinary, unrelated people. 

* * *

Mulder watched in fascination as the lab technician's needle slid beneath the translucent skin inside Scully's elbow. It was a strange, intimate moment that had Mulder so keyed up that he flinched, letting out a tiny yelp when the needle pierced his own arm. Amusement danced in Scully's eyes as she bit her lip, this time to keep from laughing at his discomfiture. Mulder laughed weakly, the tension broken. "Do I get a lollipop?" he asked, as the technician bandaged his arm.   
"You were a very good boy," the woman murmured into his ear, smoothing his bandage.   
Scully giggled, and everything seemed achingly normal. 

* * *

Mulder made it through the next few days by going under the assumption that the blood sample he'd given to Langly was not, in fact, Scully's. The man he'd taken the test tube from had been in Scully's hospital room; blood drawn from her had disappeared. Mulder had followed the man to the hospital parking garage, and fought with him. In the struggle, the test tube had been dropped. He'd gone back after the fight to soak up a few drops of the spilled blood with his handkerchief. If it wasn't Scully's blood, whose was it? Could the man have been carrying more than one test tube of blood? Could Mulder's blood have gotten mixed in, somehow? Or was Langly just less competent than he thought? There must be a hundred explanations for his results turning out the way they did. Once they'd gotten the results from Quaid-Markham, he'd go back to Langly to try to figure it out. 

* * *

Dr. Markham himself presented them with the test results in his office ten days later. "Agent Scully, I understand you're a forensic pathologist, so you should be able to read these." He slid the reports across his desk to her.   
"I'm not a specialist in DNA analysis, but...." Scully's voice trailed off as she stared at the two printouts. All the color drained from her face. "This isn't possible. There must be some sort of mistake."   
"I assure you, Agent Scully, there has been no mistake. We ran the tests several times, with fresh samples each time. I have to admit, the results surprised me. I hadn't realized that you and Agent Mulder were brother and sister."   
"We're not," Scully insisted numbly. "There's no way. Distant cousins, possibly, although that isn't likely...."   
"Not distant," Dr. Markham said firmly. "The tests indicate siblings. Or parent and child, although that's obviously impossible. There's virtually a fifty percent match of genetic material. The odds against that occurring on a random basis are astronomical."   
Scully stared at the printouts, as if willing them to rearrange themselves under her insistent gaze. Then she stared at Mulder, her face a mask of shock and disbelief and pleading demand that he explain to her how this could be.   
But Mulder's shock was barely less than Scully's. He'd managed to convince himself, somehow, that Langly's tests were a mistake, had to be a mistake, and that Markham's test would prove that, and that would be the end of it. The whole thing was just too unbelievable to be true. Now what were they going to do? 

* * *

They sat in the car, both too stunned to go back to work. Long minutes of silence passed, before Scully finally spoke.   
"All right, Mulder, from the beginning. I assume this started with Langly."   
Mulder swallowed, cleared his throat. "Yes. I'd given him a blood sample after being dosed with LSDM in Franklin. I wanted to see what he could come up with on it. And I gave him a sample of your blood while you were in the hospital last year. For reasons known only to Langly, he decided to run a DNA comparison on the two samples. He got the same results as Markham."   
"So the Lone Gunmen think I'm your sister." Her mouth curled in distaste.   
Mulder knew that she knew as well as he did that this was the least of their concerns. She was just fastening on a side issue because the real implications were still too frightening to consider. "Maybe Frohike will leave you alone now."   
It was a very weak joke, but it served its purpose. Scully choked out a small laugh. Then she sobered. "Mulder, I'm not Samantha."   
"I know." How could he not consider that possibility, when being told that Scully was his sister? But—"You don't look anything like her." His sister had been dark-haired, and long-limbed and scrawny, like him. "You're older than she is. She disappeared when you were nine. While you were... missing, your mother told me stories about you when you were six... eight... and when you were just a baby. Now, unless your whole family's in on the conspiracy," he laughed to show her his paranoia had not extended to considering that a possibility, "you never lived in Chilmark and you never called me 'Foxy Loxy' and we never played Stratego...."   
His throat constricted suddenly. He clutched at the steering wheel, willing the memories away. _Samantha...._   
Scully laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Mulder. Look, let's... let's just forget this is us we're talking about. Let's just treat it like any other case. We've got two people who just found out they're probably related. How do we find out what happened?"   
Mulder took a deep breath, looked at Scully and nodded. "Okay." Scully was right. Calm, methodical detective work. That was how they'd deal with this. "All right. If we are brother and sister, that means that one of us is adopted. Or both."   
"I've seen my birth certificate. My mother has told me stories about the night I was born. I don't think my parents would lie to me about something like that."   
"Then, four years before you were born, do you think your mother had a child that she put up for adoption?"   
Scully's brow creased. She pressed her lips together for a moment before answering. "You were born in October of Nineteen-sixty. My parents were married in June of Sixty-one." She shook her head. "I don't know, I suppose it's possible that she got pregnant before she was married and gave the child up, but—it seems so fantastic!"   
"Well, if my mother had another child right before Samantha, I think I would have noticed."   
"There has to be some other explanation."   
"You mean, maybe my mother and your father had an affair? Or vice versa? Twice? And took turns keeping the kid?" Mulder couldn't suppress an almost-hysterical giggle.   
Scully also let out a squeaky laugh. "Or our parents are really two sets of identical twins, and they just never told us."   
"Maybe they don't know they're related. Maybe they were separated at birth and put up for adoption...."   
They dissolved into helpless giggles. It was nerves, and they both knew it, but it was a relief not to take the thing quite so seriously.   
Mulder sobered first, staring down into his lap. "Scully, I don't know how I can ask my mother any of this right now." Barely a month since her ex-husband was killed, and six months since her long-missing daughter turned up, only to be told that the girl was dead, and not really Samantha, anyway. "'Guess what, Mom, I lost Samantha again, but now I think Scully's my sister.' She'll have me in a straight-jacket. If she doesn't end up in one first, herself."   
Scully stared out the car window. "Mulder... I know the search for truth is very important to you, but—do we really need to pursue this? I can't help thinking that this might be something better left alone."   
"Could you seriously just walk away from this, and never know the truth?"   
"What truth?" Scully turned to Mulder, scowling. "I love both my parents very much. And they are my parents, no matter what any genetic tests might say. I don't want to go to my mother with this any more than you do. I can't picture anything but harm coming from it. If my parents, or yours, do have some secret in their past—why not let them keep it?"   
"But Scully, if we are brother and sister...."   
"Then we'd better not get married. I don't think that was exactly in the cards, anyway, was it? Other than that, I don't see that it changes anything." She spat out the words, her blue eyes flashing.   
Mulder recoiled from her vehemence, blinking away the sudden stinging in his eyes. He wasn't quite sure why her words hurt so much. It certainly wasn't that he harbored any secret fantasies of marrying her... or that he was so desperate for a sister, he'd destroy what was left of his family to try to make her into one....   
Scully softened at once. "Mulder, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I'd be proud to have you for a brother. I just... can't believe any of this."   
"You saw the DNA analysis."   
"I saw two pieces of paper. Tests can be faked, you know."   
"Scully, why would anyone go to the trouble of trying to make me believe you're my sister? And how could they have done it? Remember, Langly found the connection first. Now we've got independent corroboration."   
"I can't believe you're taking all of this at face value. Where's the famous Mulder paranoia? I can think of several reasons why they'd want to shake you up, send you off on a wild goose chase for false information, and if you'll give me a minute, I'll think of a reasonable scenario for how they did it, too."   
Mulder sighed. "You could be right. But I don't think I can just ignore this. I want to know the truth."   
"Then let's investigate. Quietly. I'll look into our birth records. You check out Quaid-Markham." She put a hand on his arm. "We'd better get back to work."   
He nodded and started the car. As she had said, just treat it like any other case. They were investigators; that was their job. They ought to be able to verify the truth or falsity of the DNA profiles easily enough.   
They'd deal with what they found when they found it. 

* * *

Scully dropped her purse and coat on the couch as she entered her apartment, then walked over to her desk and picked up the photograph of her father sitting there. Captain William Scully, in his dress whites, stared proudly out of the frame at her. Eighteen months since he had died, she still felt the urge to telephone him at times like these, and the pain of not being able to. Not that she would have told him about what had happened. She just wanted to hear his voice.   
"Hello, Ahab," she said softly. "I thought about you today." She imagined a smile on those stern features. "Well, I think about you every day, but today something happened...."   
She pictured Mulder's face next to her father's. Their features couldn't be more dissimilar. "How would you like another son, Dad? He has some crazy ideas, but he's very smart. And he has a good heart, if you can get past the pain he's been through."   
Scully sighed, and put the picture back in its place. "I wish you'd had the chance to meet him, Dad." She'd only been Mulder's partner for about four months when her father had died—there hadn't yet been an occasion for him to meet her parents. She wondered how they would have gotten along. Her father disapproved of her decision just to join the FBI—what would he have thought of Mulder's penchant for wild speculation and unbelievable theories? Or of Mulder's obsession with a sister who had disappeared more than twenty years ago? _You can't live in the past,_ her father would say, brusquely, whenever she or her brothers or sister complained about past grievances—even those mere days or weeks old. Unhappy occurrences were to be promptly dealt with, and stoically forgotten.   
She returned to the couch, stepping out of her shoes and sitting down. "I think of him as a brother already. I'm closer to him than many brothers and sisters. I wouldn't mind if it were true, if nothing else changed. But it doesn't just affect Mulder and me. It's you and Mom, and Mulder's parents, and the rest of our families. I wish he would just let it go. But he won't. That's one thing you and he have in common, Dad. A great love for the truth."   
She leaned back and took a deep breath, staring blankly ahead. "Only with Mulder, I'm afraid it's going to destroy us all." 

* * *

The next morning, Mulder, yawning, opened his front door to pick up the morning paper. Still yawning, he almost didn't notice the small slip of paper that fluttered from between the pages to the floor. Thinking it was an advertising insert, he reached down to pick it up.   
There was an address written on the slip of paper, and a string of letters and numbers that looked like a computer password. He sighed. A message from X? He was tempted to just throw it away. After their last meeting, he'd been determined to associate with X no longer. But this wasn't association, it was just information. There was no way to know its source for certain. He'd better check it out. 

* * *

Mulder and Scully pulled up in front of the building. It was a run-down warehouse in a dusty, sparsely populated area; windowless, unpainted concrete with a steel-encased door. Since breaking and entering seemed to be the order of the day, they had waited until two A.M. to make their approach.   
An ordinary padlock held the door shut. Mulder had boltcutters in his trunk, but didn't expect them to be necessary. He pulled a leather case from his jeans pocket, selected a picklock, and went to work. Scully kept a lookout while Mulder eased the lock open. The streets remained silent and empty. The only sound was the quiet scraping of Mulder's picklock sliding against the tumblers of the lock, then the "snick" of the lock springing open. Mulder gave Scully the ghost of a smile, then pulled the heavy, counter-weighted door to the side. 

* * *

At first glance, it was just another warehouse—concrete floor, wooden support beams, rows of metal shelving and assorted cardboard boxes. But across the back wall, several wooden tables held an impressive array of electronic equipment, including a stack of CPUs and a computer monitor. Mulder and Scully prowled once around the warehouse space, shining their flashlights into every corner, to make sure there were no traps or other items of interest lurking, before zeroing in on the computer.   
Mulder switched on the monitor and then the CPUs, one by one, and waited for the boot sequence to complete. Then he stood, running a finger along his chin, while the console requested:   
`login name:`   
"You said he gave you the password...." Scully began.   
"But not the login name." Mulder chewed his lower lip.   
"It's Unix, isn't it?"   
Mulder nodded. Pages from a Unix user's manual flipped past in his mind's eye. Slowly, he smiled. Then he bent to type `root.`   
The computer responded,   
`password:`   
Now Mulder entered the password from the slip of paper.   
And was rewarded with a # prompt.   
Mulder grinned. "Okay, let's see what we've got." 

With a large, sturdy cardboard box conscripted to act as a chair, Mulder sat hunched before the console. He searched his photographic memory for the arcane commands that would allow him to explore the system. Most of the files seemed to be system files; others were non-text files with obscure names. Finally, he found something he recognized to be a database file. The filename meant nothing to him, but he had to start somewhere. He called up the database and began to search through the entries.   
`  
Subj. 1001 Alexander, Neal. 1947. Math savant, psi. Married subj. 1203, 1969. Offspring 2 (Subj. 1448, 1449)   
Subj. 1002 Arvid, Lee. 1944. Physics, chess master. Unmarried. Samples taken, 1968. Instabilities detected, no cross.   
Subj. 1003 Ashe, Karen. 1951. Psi, eidetic memory. Married subj. 1123, 1961. No offspring. Samples taken, 1964. Cross Subj. 1297 (Subj. 1530)`   
  
Mulder sat back. "Scully?"   
"What is it?" She had wandered away from the computers, inspecting the other electronic equipment, while Mulder searched the files. Now she came to stand behind him, and peer at the screen over his shoulder.   
"It looks like some kind of registry. A record of people with certain kinds of abilities, and their children."   
"'Samples taken,'" she read. "What kind of samples?"   
"Looks like the ones who didn't get married or have children. Sperm and ova samples?"   
Scully wrinkled her nose. "That makes it sound like some kind of breeding program."   
Mulder looked over his shoulder at her. In the pale light of the console screen, his face was grey. He was suddenly very uneasy. "A breeding program. Run by whom?"   
"And why did your informant send you here to find it?"   
Mulder turned back to the console. He was sure he was not going to like what he found. His fingers trembled as he entered the search commands. Alpha search, on subject name field, last name Mulder.   
`  
Subj. 1084. Mulder, William. 1937. Eidetic memory, high IQ. Married subj. 1211, 1958. Offspring 2 (Subj. 1559, 1560*) Note: offspring to be crossed. See 1560.   
Subj. 1559. Mulder, Fox. 1960. Eidetic memory, intuitive , high IQ. Unmarried. Samples taken, 1994. Note: Do Not Kill order registered, 1990. To be crossed with 1560. Marriage to be arranged, if possible.   
Subj. 1560*. Mulder, Samantha. 1965. High IQ, psi. Unmarried. Samples taken, 1994. Note: Do Not Kill order registered, 1993. To be crossed with 1559. Marriage to be arranged, if possible. Due to human incest taboo, removed from home 1973 to be raised separately. Surgery and hypnosis performed to reassign identity. (See also subj. 1560, Scully, Dana.)`   
  
The words burned themselves into Mulder's brain. He cursed his photographic memory, knowing he would never escape the sight of those words on that screen. A breeding program.... He and Samantha were breeding stock. The aliens wanted him to marry his sister, so they took her and turned her into someone else, someone he would not think he was related to. Someone he would learn to trust, and, if the aliens had their way, someone he would eventually marry and with whom he would have children. Samantha was Scully. Surgically altered, hypnotized to make her think she'd always been Dana Scully. Her family's memories had no doubt been altered, too, to make them accept her as their own. Had there ever been a real Dana Scully? And what had happened to her? Had she been raised somewhere else, or just discarded because she didn't fit the profile the aliens wanted?   
Mulder stood, stumbling against the box, kicking it out of his way. He turned and ran, wildly, towards the door, and out into the street, where he fell to his hands and knees, vomiting into the gutter.   
Presently, he felt Scully's hand on his shoulder, as she knelt at his side. "Mulder? Are you all right?" she asked softly. But he could not answer her; his stomach still twisted, and he continued to retch and cough. She stroked his back until his stomach spasms finally subsided. Then he pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, and stumbled back against the concrete wall of the warehouse. Scully stood at his side, hand on his shoulder.   
"Scully, what are we going to do now?" Tears stung his eyes; he forced them back with the heels of his hands pressed roughly to his face.   
"Mulder, those files aren't necessarily the truth."   
"What does it take to convince you? Look at the evidence. You're always telling me, you have to go by the evidence. Well, we've got two separate DNA tests and a secret government file...."   
"Tests can be faked. Anyone can type words into a computer. I haven't seen anything yet that convinces me that I'm really your sister. Do you really think eight years of memories can be replaced that easily? That I could be so completely changed, and never see any evidence of it? That my parents, my family could be fooled into thinking that a complete stranger is their daughter? Mulder, it just doesn't make sense."   
"The aliens have medical techniques far beyond ours. We saw that with Duane Barry. And you, with what happened to you while you were gone. It explains so many things."   
"It's a very clever story. And carefully calculated to hit all your hot spots. And to destroy you. Mulder, you can't let them do this to you."   
"I can't just... decide... not to believe it because I don't want it to be true." He reached out and touched her cheek. "Scully...." He searched her face. "Samantha...."   
She pulled away from him angrily. "Mulder, I am not Samantha!"   
"You see what they've done to me?" Mulder cried, his voice nearly a wail. "They have given me back my sister. And taken her away from me forever."   
"That's exactly my point," Scully said quietly, urgently. "They want to stop you from looking for her. What better way, than to make you think you've found her?"   
Mulder staggered away, shaking his head. He went as far as the end of the block, then stood staring into the blackness of the night. Like a wounded animal, he called out to the darkness.   
_"Samantha!"_

  


He barely remembered getting home. He supposed that Scully must have driven; he certainly hadn't. If they had turned off the computers, collected their flashlights, locked the warehouse door behind them—well, he might or might not have participated; he had no memory of it. He only knew that he woke on his couch, still in his jeans and tee-shirt, cold and empty and sick to his stomach. He did not want to get up and go to work; he could not bear the thought of forcing food into his churning belly; he most certainly did not want to think. Yet he had to do all those things. He sighed, wishing with all his heart that he had just told Langly to buzz off, and he willed himself to survive, although he didn't know how, when his life had been turned upside down. 

* * *

He greeted Scully with a shaky but determined smile and made no mention of the previous night's events. He had decided that he had one chance to make it through the day, by pretending that nothing at all unusual had happened. It was a denial born of long practice, from the time he was a child. _Samantha is not gone. Mom and Dad are not fighting._ Now, the litany had changed to: _Scully is not Samantha. I am not alien breeding stock._ And, of course, the one that never changed: _It is not my fault._ He didn't believe it now, any more than he did then, but he managed to continue functioning, by determinedly pretending he did. 

* * *

Scully felt Mulder's eyes on her again. The file sitting open before her had lain there unread for at least an hour. She glanced up at her partner, hoping this time he might want to talk, but once again he looked away instantly and returned his attention to the papers on his desk. She sighed, and tried to focus her roiling mind on her work. They should be talking about it, she knew, but she also knew that there was no way to make Mulder talk about something when he didn't want to. His constant staring was beginning to unnerve her, though.What was he seeing when he looked at her? Was he seeing Samantha? An alien breeding experiment? Was there anything of Scully in the images in his mind?   
Was there, in fact, a woman of her approximate age that he didn't look at as a possible Samantha? So many years had passed, his sister would be like a stranger to him now. Perhaps, in some way, it would be easier for him if Samantha did turn out to be someone he already knew and cared about. At least he would not have to worry that the past twenty-two years had turned her into someone so different from his beloved eight-year-old sister that he could not find a connection with her. Then his loss truly would be irredeemable.   
Scully had often wondered about the personalities and family relationships that would result in such a long-lived and intense obsession. What had Samantha been to him, that her disappearance would so consume his life? Scully loved her brothers and her sister, but she couldn't quite imagine Bill, Jr., for example, dedicating his life to recovering her if she'd been taken away at the age of eight. Nor would she have wanted him to. It didn't seem quite healthy to her.   
The possibility that she really was Samantha she refused to even consider. It was obviously a setup of some kind, and as soon as Mulder had had some time to calm down and think about it, he'd realize it too.   
He was staring at her again. Again, he looked away as soon as she glanced up. This time, she was not willing to let it pass.   
"Mulder?"   
He looked up, swallowing nervously. "Yeah?"   
"I can't keep my mind on this report."   
His attempt at a smile failed dismally. "Me neither."   
"Do you want to get some lunch?"   
He stared at his desk, turning his pencil in his hand. "I'm not hungry. Why don't you go ahead?"   
"I'm not hungry either. I just thought...." Her voice trailed off at the sight of the desperation in his face. She sighed. "Never mind. Maybe later."   
He nodded briefly, and hid his face in his reports.   
She returned to trying to read the file on her desk. The next time she felt him staring at her, she resolutely turned the page and continued reading. 

* * *

At home, finally, Mulder lay sleepless on the couch for hours, occasionally stirring to find the remote and click through the channels again, never really caring where the picture ended up. He'd skipped dinner, just as he'd skipped lunch, and he wished he'd skipped breakfast, too, after the way it had barely stayed down. He vaguely felt that he should be doing something about it all - investigating, questioning, studying the evidence—but he couldn't seem to make his mind settle on anything that wouldn't just make things worse. 

* * *

Three in the morning. Obviously, sleep was out of the picture. Mulder sat up abruptly and began looking for his shoes. They'd run out of that warehouse, stunned, never taking the time to really search it. He would go back now, and check it out again. 

* * *

The neighborhood remained forlorn and deserted. He pulled up behind a dented, rusting van, listing on one half-empty tire. The streetlight on the corner had burned out, leaving the building shrouded in darkness.   
The padlock was gone from the warehouse door. Mulder stood with his hand on the latch, considering. Either they had already emptied the place out and gone, or there was someone in there, working. Either way, he should just go home. If they'd cleaned house, there would be nothing to find. If there was someone there, he'd have no chance to conduct his search. He should just go home.   
Carefully, he pulled the heavy door open a few inches. The tracks were well-oiled; it moved silently. He peered into the darkness—saw nothing, heard nothing. Slowly, he pushed the door a few more inches to the side, until he had an opening just wide enough to slip through. With his gun and flashlight ready, he stepped into the warehouse.   
At first glance, the dusty beams, metal shelves, scattered boxes all seemed the same as last night. He took a few more steps, aimed his flashlight beam toward the tables at the back.   
They were empty. Whispering a curse, he started to walk to the tables. A pile of cartons at the end of the aisle had not been there last night.   
A scraping noise emerged from the darkness behind the shelves off to his right.   
He whirled toward the sound, gun pointed toward the noise. "Federal agent," he called out. "Come out of there, now!"   
Silence.   
He began sweeping the area with his flashlight, gun still ready, thinking that he was going to feel awfully foolish when he flushed some scraggly old tomcat out of hiding. But until then, he was not going to relax. Tomcats did not open padlocks.   
There, a flash of motion toward the door. Mulder dashed back to cut off escape, launched a flying tackle at the body making a run for the narrow opening in the warehouse door. They both crashed to the floor, rolling against the door, arms and legs flailing. Mulder couldn't hold onto his flashlight, gun, and the struggling body all at the same time; his quarry squirmed away and disappeared into the warehouse darkness again.   
Mulder pulled himself to his feet. He'd lost the flashlight, but still clutched his gun. And his quarry was trapped inside. No point being subtle any longer. He felt for a light switch along the wall by the door, found one and flipped it on. The warehouse was bathed in a glare of flourescent light. He spotted the warehouse's other occupant behind a row of shelves.   
He trained his gun on the other, and began walking slowly towards him. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "I just want to talk to you."   
The man didn't move, didn't speak—just stood silently, waiting, as Mulder approached. Mulder eased past the row of shelves, into the aisle where the man stood, finally able to get a good look at him.   
Alex Krycek. 

* * *

_"You!"_ Mulder hissed. He strode forward, grabbed Krycek by the throat, pressing his gun into Krycek's side. Krycek flinched, but made no move to escape.   
"Mulder, I didn't—" Fingers tightening around his throat stopped Krycek's protest.   
With his hand still on Krycek's throat, Mulder carefully pressed his gun barrel into the soft spot behind Krycek's left ear, and marched him to the back of the warehouse, to where the empty tables stood.   
"What the hell is this, Krycek?"   
"I don't know, Mulder, I—" A strangled gurgle, as Mulder pushed him back against one of the tables. The tabletop caught Krycek at the back of the thighs; Mulder's hand at his throat bent him back. "I swear, I didn't know you had anything to do with this. They just told me to come here and pack up some computer equipment, that's all I know."   
"Now, why don't I believe you?" Mulder whispered silkily into Krycek's ear. The same ear his gun barrel rested behind.   
"You know I'm just a grunt. They don't tell me anything."   
"Well, you can tell me this. Did you kill my father?"   
Krycek's face was dark and slick with sweat. Fear glinted in his eyes. "No."   
Mulder forced him back even farther. Krycek had to brace his arms on the table to hold himself up; he was half-sitting on the table.   
"You're lying."   
"No, I swear, I didn't kill him." His voice was a harsh whisper through the rough hand around his throat.   
"You were there."   
"I was there, but I didn't kill him. Mulder, he killed himself."   
With a furious growl, Mulder slammed Krycek back onto the table, head pressed uncomfortably against the concrete wall, legs flailing helplessly. Mulder climbed onto the table with him, one knee pressed sharply between Krycek's legs, eliciting a frightened yelp. Krycek's hands scrabbled wildly for some sort of purchase, not daring to grab at Mulder. One hand, finally, clutched at the edge of the table by his head; the other simply spread flat on the tabletop.   
Mulder was possessed by righteous fury. Alex Krycek had betrayed him, betrayed Scully. Killed his father. Probably killed Duane Barry, and the tram operator. His sins were deep and cold, and Mulder wanted him to pay in exquisite pain and terror for every one of them. Nothing else mattered right now, except Krycek's suffering. He was enjoying it far too much to even entertain the thought of killing him. Maybe later. Maybe not at all. But there would be pain. His face was mere inches from Krycek's, he could see each tiny rivulet of sweat slip down forehead and cheek, every frightened twitch and quiver. It was lovely.   
Mulder relaxed his hand on Krycek's throat slightly, smiled cruelly at the small relief in Krycek's eyes. Then he brought his gun forward, tapping the barrel against Krycek's lips. "Open up, Alex," he whispered.   
Fear bloomed beautifully on Krycek's face. He swallowed, twice, then reluctantly let his lips part. Mulder thrust the gun barrel deep into Krycek's mouth, gagging him. Mulder felt the convulsions down the length of Krycek's body, as he lay next to him on the table. He relaxed his grip on the gun just enough to allow Krycek to breathe. Krycek's mouth worked, trying to accommodate the width and length of the cold metal. Moisture filled his eyes. When he pressed them shut, tears dripped down the sides of his face.   
"All right, Alex," Mulder said softly. "I'm going to let you tell me what happened with my father. And whatever story you tell, you'd better make me believe it. Because if I don't, I think I'll let you tell it to him."   
Krycek tried to nod; the action only thrust the gun barrel deeper into his throat, gagging him again. Mulder stroked Krycek's temple with the tenderness of absolute rule, and waited for him to recover before slowly withdrawing the gun from Krycek's mouth.   
Krycek coughed and gasped, swallowing, clearly still tasting the cold gunmetal in his mouth. "Mulder—" His voice was raw and laced with fear.   
Mulder let the gun barrel trail down the side of Krycek's face, from temple to jaw, before bringing it again to rest behind Krycek's ear. "Tell me how you killed my father, Alex."   
"I didn't kill him," Krycek protested hopelessly. "I just went there to eavesdrop. I was supposed to find out what he told you. I was hiding in the bathroom. Neither of you were ever supposed to know that I was there."   
Mulder brought the gun up, pressed the barrel against Krycek's temple. Krycek's face twisted; his eyes shut tightly. A tear slipped down from the corner of his eye to form a shiny drop on the muzzle of the gun.   
Seconds passed; the trigger was not pulled. Krycek swallowed hard, and continued. "When he came into the bathroom, I was hiding in the shower. I was just going to stay there until he went back out. But then, he took a bottle of pills out of the medicine cabinet, and poured the whole thing into his hand."   
Mulder remembered his father leaving him, to go into the bathroom. I've been taking some medication, his father had told him. Hadn't Mulder felt a pang of fear then? Hadn't he wondered, just for a fleeting second, whether his father might be intending to... ?   
"I didn't know what to do. If he killed himself, and anyone found out that I'd been there... I just wanted to stop him. That's why I stepped out of the shower.   
"We just stood there and stared at each other. Neither of us said a thing. Then he smiled, kind of sadly, like he knew he was caught, and he started to put the pills back into the bottle and turned to put it back on the sink. I figured I'd just wait until he went back out into the living room, and then take off. He splashed some water on his face, then picked up a towel.   
"I wasn't expecting anything. He caught me off guard. He whirled around and grabbed my gun—it was still in my holster, I'd never taken it out. I thought he was going to kill me. But no—he put the gun to his own head. It was all over before I had a chance to think. I grabbed my gun and took off out the window. Ran like hell. That's all there is to it, Mulder, and I swear it's the truth."   
Mulder found that his gun was shaking in his hand. It fit. There were no obvious flaws. Could it possibly have happened that way? "There were no powder burns on his hand."   
"He was holding it with the towel. I don't know if he planned it that way, or if it just worked out like that. I thought he might have meant to frame me."   
The towel had been on the floor, to his father's right. The open bottle of pills had been lying on the rug. Blood everywhere. One shot to the right temple, from very close range. His father was right-handed; so was Krycek. Krycek could have come up behind him—or his father could have held the gun himself. An execution—or a suicide? Planned on the split second to implicate Krycek?   
Mulder felt the fury drain out of him. True or not, it was horribly plausible. And there was no way in hell he was ever going to know for sure which way it had happened.   
Mulder released Krycek, slid off the table. _The truth is out there -_ And it got more slippery every day. Murder or suicide? Partner or sister? Secret alien-run breeding experiment or carefully planned disinformation? Alien abduction or a young boy's guilt and overheated imagination? Was anything real and true?   
Mulder stumbled past the tables, to sink down to the cold floor, leaning against the concrete wall. Tears pricked at his eyes; this time, uncaring, he let them fall.   
He thought Krycek would take the opportunity to escape. Instead, after climbing shakily down from the table, Krycek also came to sit in the floor against the wall, just out of arm's reach, but no farther than that. He said nothing, just sat and waited, while Mulder gave in to frustration and horror and grief.   
Long minutes passed, filled only with the small sounds of Mulder's quiet weeping. Finally, Mulder lifted his head, and wiped his face on his sleeve. Krycek, with a small, pained sound, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it out. Mulder took it and blew his nose.   
"Why are you still here?" Mulder's voice was thick and nasal.   
Krycek sighed. "I don't know. You going to kill me?"   
"Probably not."   
There was a long pause. "You know, Mulder, what I told you when we first met, about following your work at the Academy, admiring you—that was the truth. I did feel like that. When they came to me and told me I could be your partner if I worked for them, I jumped at the chance. 'Just keep an eye on him,' they said. I was fooling myself, I guess, but I didn't think it was going to be any more than that. By the time I found out what working for them really meant, it was too late, I was already in it up to my ears.   
"You probably don't believe that, and I guess it wouldn't really matter even if you did. I made my decision, and I'm stuck with it. Things aren't going to change between us. But... you asked me, so I'm telling you. That's how it is."   
All Mulder could manage was a weak laugh. "I don't know what to believe any more. So if you want to tell me you've been on my side all along, go ahead. I might even believe you. You can even tell me the sun revolves around the earth, or the sky is falling, and I might believe that, too."   
"Mulder, what was going on in this place? What did they have set up here?"   
Mulder looked at Krycek with numb curiosity. Had Krycek been chosen specifically for his ability to look young and dumb? Mulder had a well-known weakness for strays. Even now, Krycek's whipped-puppy attitude was getting to him. He could believe that Krycek was just a naive kid with a bad case of hero-worship who'd gotten in over his head. Not that that excused anything he'd done. Maybe Mulder was just feeling guilty for having terrorized him so badly.   
"You really don't know?" Mulder asked. Krycek just shrugged.   
_Ten minutes ago, I had my gun shoved down his throat. It wouldn't have taken much to make me pull the trigger,_ Mulder mused. _Now we're sitting here chatting, and I'm blowing my nose in his handkerchief._ After the unreal haze of the past few days, he couldn't seem to find it strange. "They're trying to make me think Scully is my sister, Samantha. And that we're both part of some kind of alien breeding program."   
Krycek swallowed uneasily.   
Mulder grinned. "You should check the files under 'K.' Maybe you're in there, too."   
"Do you really think...?"   
"I don't know what I think." Who would believe something like that? Except, maybe, somebody called "Spooky" Mulder. "Two separate DNA tests showed that we are closely related. And the files in that computer explained why. If it was a setup, it was a damned good one. And they're going to an awful lot of damned trouble just to gaslight me."   
Krycek looked at the tables, now bare of equipment, and the cartons stacked near them. "I could ask around, I guess. But they probably won't tell me anything." He looked back at Mulder, with a rueful sigh. "And you wouldn't believe anything I told you, anyway."   
Mulder shook his head wearily. "I don't believe anything. It doesn't matter any more, it doesn't matter what anybody says. How can I ever believe in anything again? You can tell them they've won. I give up."   
"No, Mulder, you can't do that! You can't give up."   
It was very touching, really, Mulder thought, that Krycek should be urging him so earnestly not to give up, after everything he'd done to help destroy him. Who was this kid? "Last year, after the X-Files were shut down, I thought I'd hit bottom. I'd lost faith in myself, in my beliefs. I thought I couldn't get any lower." He laughed shortly. "I was so wrong. I didn't have any idea how far down the bottom was."   
"You'll get through this, just like you got through it before. You'll find your faith again, and you'll go on. I know you will."   
Mulder shook his head. "There are just too many lies. I can't tell the difference any more. You can't depend on the evidence, you can't depend on anything. How am I going to know the truth when I see it?"   
"How does anybody know anything? How do you know the sun's going to come up in the morning? How do you know the atoms in your body aren't going to just go flying off into the universe? Evidence can only tell you so much. When it comes right down to it, everything's a leap of faith. You always had that radar, Mulder, that ability to know what was real, even when it was something so crazy everybody else thought you were nuts for believing it. You've still got it, I know you do. You just have to trust yourself to know it. Don't let them—don't let me or anyone else—take it away from you." Krycek stared at him intently, one fist clenched. Unwiped tears still tracked his face. The words had just poured out of him, heedless, and, if Mulder could still tell anything about anybody, sincere. And there was no possible reason for Krycek to be saying any of it, unless he believed it.   
Mulder pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. He stepped over to Krycek, reached out his hand. Krycek flinched, still expecting to be hit, then forced a sick laugh and took Mulder's arm, and allowed himself to be helped to his feet.   
"I'm going to go home and get some sleep," Mulder said. "I expect you should, too."   
Krycek glanced around uneasily. "I've still got to get this... stuff..."   
Mulder nodded. "I don't know if I'll see you again. If I do...."   
"I know. Nothing changes."   
"It's changed. Krycek, about my father—I believe you. You've still got a lot to answer for—and I hope some day you will. But that part of the score is settled."   
Krycek swallowed. "Thanks."   
_I should arrest him,_ he thought. But what good would that do? There was no evidence to prove Krycek had done anything, and even if there was, his handlers would just get him off anyway.   
Mulder left him there. 

* * *

There was only time for a few hours' sleep before he had to get ready for work. Still, he felt much better in the morning. Good enough to greet Scully cheerfully with fresh coffee and a bag of donuts when she arrived and found him already hard at work.   
"Good morning. You seem... better today." Scully allowed.   
"I'm fine." Scully, however, was still pale, with dark smudges like bruises beneath tired blue eyes. "Are you all right?"   
She smiled faintly. "I didn't sleep very well. But I'll be all right. You know, people used to tell me how much I looked like my father...."   
"Scully, I think the whole thing was a setup, right from the start. I went back to that warehouse last night, and they'd already cleaned it out. I don't know how they got Langly onto it, but I'm going to call him later—as soon as I know he won't bite my head off for waking him up—and see if I can get to the bottom of it. I'll check on Markham, too. We'll figure it out."   
Scully's smile widened. "You were pretty sure it was true. What made you change your mind?"   
Alex Krycek, he thought. But he didn't say it. "I don't know. I thought about it a lot. Maybe I just don't want to believe it."   
"What if we check into it, and all the evidence is against us?"   
"I don't know." Mulder paused, and chewed his lip thoughtfully. "I've been thinking about that, too. I guess... maybe I don't think it would be so bad if you were my sister."   
Scully walked over to him, put her hand on his shoulder. "Mulder, blood isn't the only thing that can make a family."   
"Just as long as it doesn't tear us apart."   
She gave him a reassuring smile, then returned to her desk. Mulder watched her contentedly. Scully was one of a kind. She wasn't Samantha. She couldn't be.   
She couldn't be. 

* * *

Rated NC17 for explicit m/m sex.   
A DNA test sends Mulder on a quest to discover the truth about his sister, leading to a mysterious database and an old enemy. Follows "Anasazi."   
_The Best Lies_ is an amateur publication, and as such, is not meant to infringe upon the copyrights held by Fox TV, Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, or any other legally held copyrights in existence. All rights revert to the originators.   
Feedback: [email removed]   
---


	2. Picture in a Wallet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A DNA test sends Mulder on a quest to discover the truth about his sister, leading to a mysterious database and an old enemy. Follows ""Anasazi.""

**The Best Lies**

Part Two: Picture in a Wallet   
by Cody Nelson 

**...OR SOMETHING**

Damn you, Mulder 

You act like you're the only one who ever got hurt,   
Who ever lost someone he cared about,   
Like your truth is the only thing that matters   
Like King Arthur and the Holy Grail,   
or something 

So superior. So stubborn. So self-pitying.   
With your sad hazel eyes and puppydog face.   
Well, there are some truths you can't have.   
So go cry to Scully,   
or something 

I have hazel eyes, too, Mulder   
I have beliefs and dreams and longtime pain,   
But you wouldn't know about that, would you?   
You never bothered to find out. I hate you...   
or something   


Alex Krycek stepped out from the doorway and fell in step beside Mulder. He wore jeans and a black leather jacket—trying hard to look rough and dangerous, Mulder thought. It was not entirely successful. Krycek couldn't completely overcome the soft, unlined contours of a face that still made you wonder if he was out past his bedtime. But it was a definite improvement over the bland off-the-rack suits he'd worn during his brief career as Mulder's partner.   
"What have you got for me, Krycek?"   
Neither breaking stride nor taking his eyes off the sidewalk ahead of him, Krycek pulled a computer backup tape from his jacket pocket and held it out to Mulder. "I downloaded this from the computer that was in that warehouse. I don't know how much good it will do you."   
Mulder took the cassette and slipped it into his own pocket. "Is this the database file?" He knew that Krycek would know which file he meant.   
"I think so." Krycek shrugged. "I don't know Unix. I think I copied the whole hard disk, but... I couldn't exactly ask for help."   
"Okay."   
Krycek still didn't slow down. Mulder stopped him with a hand on his arm. Krycek stood with his hands jammed in his pockets, glaring at Mulder. There was a bitterness in his eyes now—in the set of his mouth, and the tension in his shoulders—which, more than the black leather and tight jeans, made Krycek appear harder, less naive than he had last year.   
"What?" Krycek said flatly.   
Mulder held up the computer cassette. "Why, Krycek? Why give me this?"   
"I told you I'd check into it. Didn't you want to know what was in that database?" He looked up at Mulder from under dark lashes. Open. Reasonable. Utterly unresponsive.   
"I know why I want it. I want to know why you want to give it to me."   
"You think it's a setup." His eyes narrowed, accusing. As if he had a right to be.   
"The thought did occur to me."   
"Well, it isn't."   
"Then what is it?"   
"You're not going to believe a word I say anyway. Why should I bother?"   
Mulder smiled, his voice a soft purr. "But you tell such good stories. Tell me another one. Or do you only come up with them when you've got a gun to your head?"   
"Why don't you put a gun to my head and find out?" he snapped. "What do you want from me, Mulder?"   
"I want information. And you're not giving it to me." On a sudden impulse, Mulder held out his hand and ordered, "Give me your wallet."   
"What?" Krycek's voice was a choked whisper.   
"You heard me. Give me your wallet."   
"I'm not going to... why should I give you my wallet?"   
"You're playing games with me, Krycek, and I don't like it. I want to know who the hell you are. If you won't tell me, I'll have to find out another way."   
Krycek's mouth worked, but he didn't speak. He glared at Mulder defiantly for a few moments, then, lips pressed tightly together, he nodded once, pulled his wallet from his back pocket, and handed it over.   
Mulder took it and turned it over in his hands. It was a plain brown leather wallet, completely ordinary. He opened the wallet and counted the cash, around forty dollars. The driver's license was a phony, in the name of Alan Foxworth.   
"Foxworth?"   
Krycek reddened. "Not my idea."   
Mulder memorized the address, even though he knew it would be no good. There was also a Visa card in the same name. A folded slip of paper with a phone number written on it. Mulder memorized that, too. A laundry claim check. Not much of interest. A good mole, Krycek did not carry incriminating items around with him. Mulder started to close the wallet, then, almost as an afterthought, he slid his finger into the space behind the credit card pockets, and found a slip of paper. There was a small noise of protest from Krycek as Mulder pulled it out.   
Mulder stared at the paper in complete astonishment. It was a grainy copy of his FBI ID photo. Not the best picture of him, but clearly recognizable. Mulder held the photo up, with a questioning look.   
"Krycek? What the hell is this?"   
"Can I have my wallet back now?" Krycek was all but squirming.   
Suddenly, Mulder felt embarrassed himself. He tucked the photo back and handed the wallet to Krycek, who jammed it roughly into his pocket.   
"Are we through?" Krycek spoke through clenched teeth.   
"Is that address for real?"   
"What do you think?"   
"Then how do I get in touch with you?"   
A short, harsh laugh. "Forget it, Mulder."   
"Krycek, you're not going to run me around like a trained dog. I'm not asking for your home address. Figure out a way for me to get hold of you. Or forget any more of these little get-togethers."   
"I'm risking my life to bring you this. I don't owe you anything."   
"Don't you?" _Scully's abduction. Duane Barry. Drug-induced psychosis._ "Anyway, for all I know, this is just another setup, and you were sent here to screw me around again."   
"Fuck you, Mulder. Believe what you want."   
"You called me, Krycek. You wanted this meeting. If you ever want another one...."   
"Shit." Krycek dug in his pockets and came up with a matchbook and a pen. He scribbled something on the inside cover of the matchbook and handed it to Mulder. "That's it, Mulder. Use it judiciously. I mean, if you're going to kill me, I'd rather you just put a gun to my head." Then he walked away.   
Mulder watched until the leather-clad back turned the corner and disappeared. Then Mulder looked down at the matchbook cover.   
[email removed]   
A crooked smile played about Mulder's lips. So the little rat-bastard had a sense of humor, and a self-deprecating one at that. I never know what to expect from you, Alex Krycek. 

* * *

Mulder had to go to the Computer Analysis unit to find a Unix-based computer to read the data on the tape. Scully stood behind his shoulder as he studied the files.   
"Is it the same data?" she asked.   
"Looks like it. But I only saw a small part of the system. They could have made any number of changes in the rest and I would have no way of knowing."   
"Why would Krycek give you this?"   
He hadn't told her about the confrontation with Krycek at the warehouse, only that Krycek had called him that morning and asked for a meeting. "I have no idea." _What I told you when we first met, about following your work at the Academy, admiring you—that was the truth,_ Krycek had told him. Mulder hadn't known whether to believe him then, and he didn't know now. "Maybe he feels guilty about what he's done and he's trying to make amends. Maybe he's feeding me disinformation on Cancer Man's orders. Maybe he's just insane. I don't know."   
Mulder sat back. There on the screen was the database that had nearly destroyed his life just a few days ago. He pulled up record 1560*. _Mulder, Samantha... Due to human incest taboo, removed from home to be raised separately. Surgery and hypnosis performed to reassign identity. (See also 1560, Scully, Dana)._ The first time he'd seen this, he'd run out of the warehouse to throw up in the gutter. He'd almost been convinced that Scully was Samantha, and the idea had plunged him into despair.   
Now he could look at the words almost dispassionately. He still had no proof one way or another whether any of it was true—their investigations had turned up nothing further. But he'd chosen to believe it was a lie, cooked up by the Smoking Man and his cronies to destroy Mulder's self-confidence, and to stop his search for his sister, Samantha. It would take more than words on a computer screen to make him believe that Scully was anyone but Scully.   
"It looks the same to me," Scully said, studying the screen.   
"Yes. It's the same file." He typed in another search command. The response came back _Krycek: not found._ Mulder grinned over his shoulder at Scully. "Oh well. I guess he's human, after all."   
Scully shook her head, smiling. "Will you be able to find out anything from this?"   
Mulder's smile faded. He sighed. "I doubt it. I'll check it out, but there's no way of knowing whether any of this is real. Or if it ever was." _I could ask around,_ Krycek had told him. _But you won't believe anything I tell you, anyway._   
_Well, you were right about that,_ Mulder thought. 

* * *

"Scully, what do you think it means if a guy has your photograph in his wallet?" They were sitting in their office, later that afternoon. Mulder was trying to concentrate on his work, but he couldn't get the strange meeting with Krycek out of his mind.   
Scully smiled. "You're a guy, Mulder, you tell me."   
"I don't know, the only picture I have in my wallet is the blonde on my video rental card."   
"Well, who's got whose picture in his wallet?"   
Mulder suddenly wished he hadn't brought the subject up. "Krycek. Has mine." His face burned as he said it.   
Scully opened and closed her mouth. "He's messing with your head."   
"But he didn't know I was going to be looking in his wallet. He didn't want me to see it."   
Scully looked at him curiously. "So how did you happen to be looking in his wallet?"   
"I made him give it to me."   
Her only response was an eloquently raised eyebrow.   
Mulder shrugged, embarrassed. "I can't figure him out. I don't know why he would be doing this. And it makes me crazy that I can't do anything about all the things he's done. So I push him. It's a very twisted little relationship."   
"Apparently, even more twisted than you realized."   
"No, I... he's not even...." Mulder stopped. He had no idea whether Krycek was gay.   
"Actually, it would explain a lot. His obsession with you...."   
"It doesn't explain why he went to work for my enemies." Although, hadn't Krycek already answered that question? _They told me I could be your partner if I worked for them...._ Mulder had thought it was simple hero-worship, but maybe there was more to it than that. Krycek had followed him around like an eager puppy back then, during the brief time they'd worked together. He was always sitting or standing right next to Mulder, bringing him coffee, hanging on his every word. There was no obvious sexual element in it, but, as Scully said, it would explain a lot.   
"Maybe he didn't feel that way until after he started working for them. Maybe he thought it was the only way he could get close to you. Maybe he wanted to destroy you because he knew he could never have you." Scully ticked off the possibilities calmly.   
Mulder wished he could be so calm about it. "Scully, I really did not want to know this."   
Scully grinned. "On the other hand, maybe there's a perfectly innocent explanation for why he carries your picture in his wallet."   
"There's a secret microdot on the back. He forgot what I look like and had to remind himself before he came to meet me. It's really a picture of his Mom and it's just a coincidence that she looks exactly like me."   
They laughed and let the subject drop. But it continued to niggle at the back of his mind. It was one more unexpected aspect of a man who was already far too hard to figure out. 

* * *

Mulder fell asleep on the couch, as usual. Sometimes he'd wake up later and drag himself off to the bedroom. Sometimes he wouldn't. He was dozing through the late movie when the knock on his door brought him fully awake.   
Heart pounding with adrenaline rush, he snatched his gun from the coffee table and held it ready as he went to the door. Nearly three A.M.; he rarely had company at all, much less at three in the morning.   
"Who is it?" he asked through the door.   
"It's me, Mulder. Let me in." A male voice, urgent and slightly husky. Krycek?   
Mulder suppressed the urge to just tell him to go away, and cracked the door slightly. His curiosity was going to get him killed some day.   
It was, indeed, Alex Krycek. He took Krycek's arm, pressed his gun into Krycek's gut, pulled him inside and shut the door.   
Krycek held his hands up, palms outspread. "I'm unarmed, Mulder, come on. If I was going to try something, I wouldn't be knocking on your door in the middle of the night. I just need to talk to you."   
Gun still on Krycek, Mulder pushed him up against the wall. "You don't mind if I check that out for myself." He forced Krycek to endure a thorough pat-down.   
"All right." Mulder stood back, gun lowered.   
Krycek turned around, white with fury. "You son of a bitch, Mulder. You know that wasn't necessary. I just wanted to talk to you."   
"Taking a pretty big chance coming here, aren't you? Why didn't you just arrange a meeting?"   
"Because I had some things to say I didn't want to say out on the street. And what do you care if I take chances, anyway?"   
Mulder, his heartbeat gradually returning to normal, put his gun on the desk and went back to sit on the couch. "I don't. But I don't want to have to explain what you're doing dead on my carpet, if someone follows you here and puts a bullet in your head."   
Krycek followed him and stood before him, glowering. "Well, I'll try not to bleed on your carpet," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Nobody followed me. I'm not stupid."   
"All right. Say what you have to say."   
Krycek glanced around uneasily, suddenly unsure of himself. "Did you find anything on that tape?"   
"No. You know I have no way of knowing if it's a fake. Either before or after you copied it. What was I supposed to find out from it?"   
Krycek shrugged, frustrated. He spoke hotly. "I don't know, Mulder. I thought you wanted to see it. I'm sorry I wasted your time."   
"Don't play the hurt innocent with me, Krycek. You've got nothing to be upset about."   
"Okay, you don't want my help, you can forget it. You won't get any more information from me."   
"Fine. I never asked you to do it in the first place."   
Krycek paced angrily in front of Mulder's couch. "You have had this attitude towards me from the day we met. Long before I did anything you had a right to get angry about. What is your problem?"   
"My problem? You're my problem. Let me see, working for my enemies behind my back, spying on me, helping them to abduct my partner...."   
"But Scully's all right. You're all right. Nothing I did caused you any permanent harm."   
Mulder got up and stood facing Krycek, interrupting the other man's pacing with a hand on his chest. "No harm? Three months of hell, worried sick about her—her mother bought her gravestone, did you know that? And who knows what they put her through, she still doesn't remember. Only that she almost died. That's what you did to me."   
"I... all I did was tell them where to find her. I didn't know what they were going to do with her."   
"And you think that lets you off the hook?"   
"No, but I just do what I'm told. I don't make the decisions. What did I do that was so bad?"   
Mulder grabbed Krycek by the collar of his jacket. "Are you insane? What did you do? You betrayed me! You turned Scully over to them! And you wonder why I don't like you?"   
Krycek struck Mulder's hand away. "But that's all over with! I'm trying to help you now. And you—you just humiliate me every chance you get."   
"Why are you helping me? Why do you care so much what I think? What am I to you, but a mark you helped try to destroy?"   
"Mulder, it wasn't like that. I told you. I didn't know what I was getting into."   
"Then why didn't you get out, when you found out what it was? Why didn't you come to me? Why didn't you let me save Scully before those bastards got her?"   
"Scully, I'm so sick of hearing about Scully! There's no room for anybody else in your private little world, is there? Just you and your precious Scully!" Krycek's voice was cracking, near to hysteria.   
And there it was. Scully was right. Mulder wondered why it had taken him so long to see it. "Scully has nothing to do with it. You just want to get me in bed."   
Krycek recoiled as if struck. "What are you talking about?" His choking words were barely audible.   
"You heard me."   
Krycek turned his back to Mulder. "Go to hell."   
"So what are you telling me, Krycek? You don't want me?"   
Krycek whirled, strode up to Mulder and stood, inches from his face. He spat out the words. "I want you. I want to fuck you so bad, sometimes I think I'll go crazy. I want you so bad, I risk my life to come here, I let you ridicule me and threaten me and push me around. But no more, Mulder. No more." Then, abruptly, Krycek seized Mulder's face in his hands, and covered Mulder's mouth with his own, in a kiss as deep and white-hot as his fury.   
At first, Mulder was too startled to pull away, but then his own fury demanded release, and found it in asserting possession of this man, who tormented and infuriated and angered him beyond reason. Mulder gripped Krycek by the shoulders, and returned the kiss with all his pent-up fire.   
They fought for dominance with their tongues, in a kiss neither gentle nor kind. Mulder felt his fists clench, wanting to strike, and had to force his fingers to uncurl; then slid one hand into Krycek's hair and tightened his fingers into what he knew was a painful grip. His mouth was rough and devouring. Krycek responded with his own strength, fingernails digging into Mulder's back, one thigh thrust between Mulder's legs. Mulder felt his cock harden painfully, constricted by his jeans, and was astonished by the intensity of his desire. But it wasn't attraction, it was an animal need that had more to do with jungle law than human intimacy.   
The kiss was long and hard. Krycek was skillful with his mouth and hands and body, you had to give him that. He very nearly took control. But while Mulder's fury was for his betrayal, Krycek's was for his frustrated need—as that need was filled, his fury dissipated, and he lost the battle.   
Mulder felt it in the other man's whole body; the strength just went out of him, and with a desperate gasp Krycek pushed himself away. He stood, his chest heaving, slicked-back hair mussed, reddened lips parted, face once again the raw innocent who'd somehow managed to get under Mulder's skin and past his defenses. Suddenly, it was not entirely anger that motivated Mulder's passion, and he felt a pang of uneasiness.   
Mulder brushed the feeling away, unwilling to admit that there was still anything in Krycek that attracted him. But his cock ached, and Krycek was there for the taking. He searched out an image of Scully's face as she lay in the hospital after her abduction, eyes taped and a tube down her throat, to rekindle the righteous fury that would allow him to do whatever he wanted with Krycek. Then there was a glint of fear in Krycek's eyes, as Mulder grabbed his arm and dragged him into the bedroom.   
Mulder flung Krycek down onto the futon, then stood over him, fists clenched. Momentarily unsure of himself, Mulder hesitated, wondering if he should give in to this dark desire, more a need to punish than to answer Krycek's passion. He was not a rapist. But then, Krycek was not resisting.   
He knelt down on the futon, and began to pull Krycek's jacket off. Krycek struggled upright, shifting to assist Mulder in removing it. Divested of his black leather, some of his toughness was lost. Methodically, Mulder stripped him naked, tossing his clothes carelessly aside, pushing his hands away when he tried to help, or grasp at Mulder's tee-shirt. He teased Krycek's body as he undressed him, pinching the tender nipples, brushing the inside of his thigh, stroking the firm curve of his belly. Krycek moaned, almost fought, then finally yielded to Mulder's touch.   
Mulder leaned back on his heels, with Krycek laid out before him. His experience with men was limited—mostly clumsy and alcohol-lubricated gropings with classmates at Oxford—but he knew the basics of having sex with men, and he knew what he wanted to do now. He had condoms in the nightstand by the futon - seldom used, but there, just in case—but he needed something he could use for lubricant. He had hand lotion in the bathroom—it was water-based, so it should do. Mulder stood, gesturing for Krycek to stay where he was, and went to get the lotion. _Am I really going to do this?_ he asked himself, knowing that the answer was yes. Something existed between him and Krycek that demanded this resolution; something that was not entirely betrayed trust and sexual obsession, although he didn't want to look at it that closely. He returned to the bedroom, where Krycek remained just as he had left him, looking up at him with a strange expression in his clear hazel eyes.   
Mulder got a condom out of the nightstand, placed it along with the lotion in reach beside the futon. Then he began to undress.   
"All right, this is how it is. This happens once, and it happens my way, or it doesn't happen at all. You get one chance to say no, right now."   
Krycek frowned, lips pressed tightly together. The bitterness was sharp on his face, but he didn't move, and he didn't say a word.   
"Turn over."   
Krycek closed his eyes tightly for a moment, resentment flaring. Rebellion quickly suppressed, he obeyed, slowly turning over onto his stomach, legs slightly apart. He continued to look up at Mulder, anger flickering around the edges of his need. Mulder could hear the thudding of his own heart as he lay down beside Krycek, and ran a hand along the burning hot skin of Krycek's back. Krycek's body was smooth and white; youthful, not overly powerful, but firmly muscled. He sighed as Mulder stroked his back; gasped when Mulder probed between his buttocks. He buried his face in the pillow, gripping the edge of the futon tightly.   
Mulder felt his own body responding to Krycek's heat. His cool control dissipating, he brought his mouth down onto Krycek's shoulders, and covered him with teasing bites and wet kisses, while his hands explored hip and thigh. He moved to lie between Krycek's legs, spreading him farther with his knees. He stroked his hard cock along the crevice between Krycek's cheeks, and Krycek writhed beneath him. It was intoxicating, controlling Krycek like this. Subjugating him with his own desire. The power was as delicious as the firm flesh flexing beneath his cock.   
He reached for the lotion, poured a generous amount into his hand, and moved back onto his knees to allow himself access to Krycek's buttocks. He slid his wet hand between Krycek's cheeks and found the puckered entrance with his fingers. Krycek let out a tortured moan and lifted his hips to meet Mulder's hand. Mulder entered him with his finger, stroking in and out, searching for the special gland, not sure how he would know if he found it. Krycek's shuddering cry was the answer.   
Mulder found that he was gasping himself, as he withdrew his finger, briefly, to reenter with two fingers. He was slick with sweat, his body burning, his cock throbbing. Krycek's squirming, whimpering response was driving him mad. He wanted this desperately, even though he knew it would bring disaster. He reached for the condom, suddenly in a frantic hurry to finish it. His hands trembled as he ripped the foil and rolled the condom onto his cock. Then he settled between Krycek's legs, guiding his cock to the moist entrance, and began to penetrate him.   
Mulder was going too fast; Krycek cried out and tried to pull away. Mulder forced himself to slow down, but didn't stop, even though Krycek's body was now stiff with resistance. Then Krycek sobbed "Mulder, please...." and he relented. Pain wasn't what he wanted from Krycek now—he wanted that wonderful, helpless, desperate passion. He withdrew and began again, careful this time, moving with shallow strokes, gradually deepening as Krycek relaxed and began to move with him. Finally, he pushed past the tight ring of muscle, and the full length of his cock slid in. Krycek's sobbing moans were pure desire, now, and Mulder groaned his own pleasure. He relaxed for a moment, allowing his body to lay heavily on Krycek's, enjoying the feel of the sweat-slick back and hips beneath him, and his cock fully sheathed in tight, hot flesh. _You are mine,_ he thought, reveling in the possession, pushing away the unexpected wave of accompanying tenderness. He ran his hands down Krycek's arms, from hard shoulders to strong hands, then gripped his conquest's wrists and pressed them firmly into the futon. He began to move his hips, thrusting deep and hard into Krycek's ass.   
His passion grew quickly, and so did Krycek's, and soon they were both gasping and thrusting with increasing heat, building to an impossible climax. Krycek came first, screaming into the pillow, grinding his hips against Mulder's groin, muscles clenching on Mulder's cock. Mulder pushed into him hard and gripped him tightly, riding out the waves of his orgasm, then drove to his own climax with three more long, sharp strokes. His release shot through him like electric fire, stiffening every muscle in his body, filling him with shockwaves of pleasure, until, sated, he collapsed into a boneless puddle, body still tingling with creamy satisfaction.   
The afterglow lasted only a few moments. Mulder groaned, then, and lifted himself up, the air chilling his sweaty skin. He held the condom in place while he withdrew from Krycek's body, then peeled it off quickly, trying not to look too closely at it as he reached over Krycek to toss it into the trash. He rolled over onto his back, away from Krycek, and lay with one arm flung over his head, the back of his hand resting on his forehead. A sick, sinking feeling washed over him.   
_Oh my god, what have I done? I just fucked Alex Krycek._ How could he have possibly thought that there was an excuse for this? Krycek still lay with his face buried in the pillow. Mulder didn't look at him, but he was aware of Krycek's body shaking, muffled sounds emerging from the pillow. He was crying. Mulder's sick feeling increased. He had wanted to punish him, but not like this. Should he try to comfort him? That would be a hollow and useless gesture. Probably just make things worse. If they could be any worse. Mulder had never been so ashamed in his life.   
_He wanted it. I didn't force him._ But he had taken him in anger, not in love, or even kindness; made him give up all control, and treated him like a slab of flesh. What might it have been like if he'd allowed Krycek to really make love to him? The memory of that soul-searing kiss came hauntingly back, and he forced it away, hot tears spilling from his own eyes. Alex Krycek is a morally bankrupt little toad, he insisted to himself. Krycek's betrayal still burned. Trust did not come easily to him, and to have it shattered as Krycek had shattered it wounded him to the core. But now he had his own betrayal to counter it. Wrong did not justify wrong.   
Krycek stirred, sat up on the edge of the futon, back to Mulder. Mulder turned to look at him, and saw tooth marks on Krycek's shoulder. Mulder hadn't remembered biting that hard. His stomach churned with shame. He reached out to touch Krycek's arm.   
"Alex?"   
Krycek jerked away from his touch. Mulder had no idea what to say. Krycek leaned forward to begin gathering his clothes. He pulled on his tee-shirt, then stood, back still to Mulder, to pull up his underpants and jeans. He had to search the room more carefully for his shoes and socks. Mulder could see the silent tears still falling, tiny wet drops dripping to the carpet, as Krycek sat in the floor to put his shoes on. Finally, he grabbed his jacket, shrugging into it as he got to his feet.   
At last he turned to face Mulder. Now it was Krycek standing, fully dressed, looking down at Mulder lying naked in bed. Mulder felt a tiny pang at his vulnerability. But there was no anger or resentment in Krycek's face any longer, only heartbroken misery.   
"Alex... I didn't mean...." He struggled for words, knowing that there were none.   
"Yes, you did." Tears still sliding down his face, Krycek reached into his back pocket for his wallet, and brought it out. He took the small picture from its secret hiding place and let it fall, fluttering, to the bed.   
"Goodbye, Mulder."   
Then he turned and walked out. 

"Mulder."   
He jerked to attention, found Scully standing by his desk with her arms folded, looking very impatient. "Sorry. What were you saying?"   
She sighed. "Mulder, you haven't heard a word I've said all day. What's wrong?"   
"Nothing. Nothing." Three nights ago Krycek had walked out of his apartment. Mulder hadn't heard from him since.   
"You've been like this for days. Are you sure you're all right?"   
He'd sent several urgent and increasingly indiscreet messages to Krycek's e-mail address, none of which had been answered. "I'm all right. I just haven't been sleeping." And the last time he'd said that, it was because Krycek had been spiking the water in his building with drugs.   
Perhaps she made that connection too, and it was what prompted her to ask, "Have you heard from Krycek again?"   
He flinched. "No," he mumbled, face burning. "No, I haven't seen him. Why do you ask?"   
"Just wondered." She regarded him thoughtfully for a long moment. "Mulder? Let me know if you want to talk about it."   
He nodded. There had been that phone number in Krycek's wallet, perhaps he could be traced through that. Or the "Alan Foxworth" alias. There must be some way to find him, if he wouldn't relent and answer his e-mail.   
Maybe by the time he found him, he'd have thought of something to say. 

* * *

Rated NC17 for explicit m/m sex.   
A DNA test sends Mulder on a quest to discover the truth about his sister, leading to a mysterious database and an old enemy. Follows "Anasazi."   
_The Best Lies_ is an amateur publication, and as such, is not meant to infringe upon the copyrights held by Fox TV, Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, or any other legally held copyrights in existence. All rights revert to the originators.   
Feedback: [email removed]   
---


	3. Shifting Sands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A DNA test sends Mulder on a quest to discover the truth about his sister, leading to a mysterious database and an old enemy. Follows ""Anasazi.""

**The Best Lies**

Part Three: Shifting Sands   
by Cody Nelson 

  
**THROUGH YOUR EYES**

Who is she, Mulder?   
The woman you see when you look at me?   
Is she someone who'll follow you anywhere,   
Believe your extreme possibilities,   
Live for your truth? 

Or maybe she's a little sister,   
Replacing the one you've lost.   
Someone to be cared for and protected,   
Teased and tormented,   
Taken for granted,   
Loved like family. 

Perhaps you see a guardian angel   
Hovering over you, watching out for you,   
Saving you from yourself. 

I don't know who she is, Mulder.   
She isn't Scully.   
But she may be what Scully is becoming. 

Mulder sat, leaning on his elbow, mind only half on the microfiche pages as they flashed by, searching through corporate records, tracing Quaid-Markham's ownership. It was a tangled web. He'd dug through several levels of parent corporations already, and still couldn't pin it down. His life was like this microfiche, he decided—spinning by, almost out of control, accomplishing nothing. He was getting nowhere.   
Langly had insisted that no one could have tampered with the blood-stained handkerchief Mulder had given him. If the blood on the handkerchief wasn't Scully's, well, that wasn't his problem. His tests were accurate with the samples he was given.   
Scully had investigated hospital birth records and could find no evidence that either of their mothers had had another child, or that either of them had been adopted.   
Mulder had talked to Don Markham, who had offered to run another series of tests, but stood firmly by the results he'd already given.   
He could prove nothing. It seemed to be the story of his life. And now, on top of everything else, the awful situation with Krycek continued to prey on his mind. He'd given up trying to find him, deciding it would be better if he just never saw Krycek again—unless it was to testify at Krycek's trial. But he couldn't stop himself from thinking about everything that had happened. He still couldn't believe the twisted impulse that had made him respond sexually to a man he hated. What was it all about? Nothing about Krycek made sense, not from the moment he'd allowed himself to believe Krycek's story about his father's death. Why hadn't Krycek just left the warehouse after Mulder had let him go? Why had he brought him the database tape? Why had he come to Mulder's apartment, goaded Mulder into half-raping him? He could not afford to take anything that Krycek said or did at face value. Krycek was playing games with him. Dangerous, twisted games. Setting Mulder up for some new betrayal. Mulder was not even sure that Krycek hadn't really killed his father, although Krycek's story had seemed genuine at the time.   
Page after page of microfiche flashed dizzily by.... Wait a minute, what was that? He reversed the microfiche reader, went back a page. There, not the parent corporation, but another subsidiary—   
Purity Control. 

* * *

Mulder thrust the hardcopy of the microfiche page triumphantly under Scully's nose. She sat back and looked up at him, waiting.   
"Quaid-Markham is the sister corporation of Purity Control."   
Scully's eyes widened. She studied the page. "It can't be a coincidence... how did you happen to choose Quaid-Markham in the first place?"   
Mulder pulled a chair over to Scully's desk and sat in it backwards. "Don Markham came to me about three years ago when one of his employees disappeared with a file full of confidential records. I helped him recover them. He told me if I ever needed any help with DNA analyses he'd be happy to do me a favor."   
"Then he initiated the relationship. Could they have been planning something like this that far ahead? And how did they know what Langly had told us?"   
Mulder rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. "Maybe they didn't. I still don't think Langly's involved in any conspiracy." He stood and began to pace, frowning. "All right, it all started with Langly's curious idea of a fun way to spend a rainy Saturday, running DNA analyses. Let's suppose Langly's tests were genuine—but the blood sample I gave him wasn't really yours. Maybe it was Samantha's, or a clone of Samantha's. Then, to confirm his results, I went to Don Markham."   
"He'd been waiting three years for something like this. He went to Purity Control, and told them that you and I had come in for DNA testing. Did you tell Markham about the previous tests?"   
"No, I just said I wanted our DNA analyzed and compared."   
"Well, it would have been reasonable for him to assume that we suspected some sort of genetic relationship. And we presented them with an ideal opportunity to set us up."   
"All they had to do then was have Markham fake the test results, then set up a phony database in a warehouse, and send us after it with an anonymous tip. And they had us on a string, right down the line." Mulder stopped pacing and grinned. It still wasn't proof, but it was an answer. One that made sense; one that fit all the facts. _You always had that radar, Mulder, that ability to know what was real...._ Krycek had told him that. He shook it off. "It's still a big coincidence that their results were identical with Langly's. Maybe they replaced your DNA profile with Samantha's, too. Damn."   
"What?"   
"We should have kept the profiles from Markham's tests. We could have compared them with Langly's."   
"What do you want to bet that if we go back to Markham now, he'll say the reports are missing?"   
He grinned again. "No takers. But I'll ask, anyway."   
Scully nodded. Her face was brighter, too. Mulder sighed with relief. Finally, some real evidence that the DNA tests had been a setup. Then his mood sank. It still wasn't over, not until they had final proof. And that was something they might never find.   
Scully's smile faded, too. "Mulder? I... I asked my mother about this."   
"What did she say?"   
"That she'd had no other children. That I wasn't adopted."   
"I'm sorry, Scully. I know that must have been... hard." He felt a flash of guilt, although he knew it wasn't really his fault. But if he'd found the information about Quaid-Markham earlier, she might not have felt it necessary to go to her mother with this.   
She shrugged. "It wasn't so bad. She wasn't upset, just confused. And curious."   
"What did you tell her?"   
"I said that I'd received anonymous information that I had another brother, and that either he or I was adopted. I said that I had assumed it was false, but that I had to check it out."   
He nodded. "Well, if this whole thing was designed to shake us up, it certainly worked." He still couldn't imagine asking his mother about anything like this.   
"Mulder, I've done all I can with checking into our birth records. You've talked to Langly and Markham. I don't know what else we can do."   
Mulder sighed. "I know."   
"We could try another DNA test, I suppose," she said, without enthusiasm.   
"Maybe." He was as reluctant as she was. "The only person I'd trust to do it at this point is Langly."   
Her lip curled in distaste. "You actually let that man stick a needle in your arm?"   
Mulder grinned. "He was very gentle."   
"Does he give lollipops?"   
"No, that's Frohike's department."   
Scully shook her head, smiling. "I would never lick anything I got from Frohike."   
"Aw, Scully, you're breaking his heart."   
It was good to enjoy a little of their usual banter. There had been far too little of it since the day Langly had called with the news of the DNA tests he'd run. As impossible as it seemed, life was somehow returning to normal, even though they still didn't know for sure whether they were brother and sister. It was a strange thought, and one that was more chilling than comforting. But Scully was right, they'd gone as far as they could. They could take another DNA test, but how could they ever be sure of the results? Unless some new evidence turned up, they were at a dead end. 

* * *

There was a small slip of paper tucked into his mailbox. Mulder pulled it out, thinking it was some sort of advertisement. But it was a note, handprinted. A location, and a time. Signed, "Skippy."   
Krycek. Mulder found that his hand was trembling. Damn Krycek! Just when Mulder had decided to put Krycek out of his life for good, he popped up again. After everything that had happened, why would Krycek want to meet with him again?   
Add that to the entire list of questions Mulder had about Krycek's behavior. Mulder didn't understand any of it. Could this whole thing be some sort of elaborate trap? Had Krycek been sent, deliberately, starting with the warehouse, to do everything he could to shake Mulder up and keep him off balance? He would have liked to believe that, but it hardly seemed plausible. How could they be sure that Mulder wouldn't just kill Krycek? Or perhaps they didn't care if he did. Supposing that the Smoking Man had no further use for Krycek—he might have given Krycek one last assignment to get back in Mulder's good graces any way he could. And if Mulder killed Krycek instead, well, that would be a perfectly satisfactory result. The Smoking Man would be rid of a no-longer-useful agent, and have evidence to get Mulder charged with murder - two problems taken care of at once. Squeezed between the Smoking Man's callous threat and Mulder's implacable hatred, Krycek might begin to be bitter and desperate and unpredictable.   
Mulder wished he could come up with as reasonable an explanation for his own behavior. His previous sexual experiences with men had been encounters of convenience and curiosity, amusing but passionless. He wasn't particularly attracted to men, and if he had to choose a type he might be attracted to, it wouldn't be Alex Krycek, whose looks he would classify as ordinary and undistinguished. Yes, Krycek had a certain sweetness, an awkward charm that Mulder had once found appealing in a protective, big-brotherish sort of way. Those feelings were far from the overwhelming urge to rut that had overcome Mulder when Krycek kissed him. It had to be just an aberration; a sudden boiling over of all the tumultuous emotions Krycek caused in him.   
So what was on the agenda for this time? More dubiously useful information passed? Another attempt to goad Mulder into losing control?   
Mulder sighed, shook himself, and went up the stairs into his apartment. Damn his curiosity, he was going to have to meet with Krycek. The time specified was nine P.M.; that gave him several hours to think it over, and to plan, and to decide....   
He wanted Scully with him. But if he asked her to come, he was going to have to tell her... something. The meeting at the warehouse, at least—not the whole story. Even that much shamed him for some reason; he wasn't sure why. That he'd terrorized Krycek, and enjoyed it? That he'd wept, and allowed Krycek to comfort him? He still had Krycek's handkerchief, laundered and buried at the bottom of a drawer. He supposed he should return it, although the image made him very uncomfortable. He hadn't been able to bring himself to do it before.   
That he'd let Krycek walk away, and take the computer equipment with him? Or maybe it was just that what had happened at that warehouse disrupted the pure, white hatred he'd cultivated towards Krycek, and he didn't like to admit that to himself, much less say it out loud.   
But even less did he want to meet with Krycek alone. He didn't trust Krycek; he didn't trust himself. He wanted Scully's calm, rational influence on both of them. He picked up the phone. 

* * *

Scully sat in the easy chair across from Mulder's couch. She'd listened to his story without comment, and was now sorting through her reactions, trying decide how best to proceed. She'd long ago found that it was no good railing at him for any of the impulsive and ill-considered things he did. He was used to being shouted at and ridiculed—he'd simply close himself off and ignore it. If she wanted him to listen to her, she had to be calm and non-judgmental. She schooled her features to a carefully blank mask—Mulder called it her "doctor face." She was tempted to ask what on earth he'd been thinking when he'd almost made Krycek eat his gun.   
But all she said was, "Why didn't you tell me about this before?"   
He shrugged helplessly. "I didn't even want to think about it."   
"What do you think he wants now?"   
"I don't know. I don't know what he ever wanted."   
"Why would he keep risking himself to meet with you? It has to be a setup."   
"I agree. But I still want to know what he has to say."   
"Mulder...." She bit her lip thoughtfully. "I know you were starting to like him, before you found out he was working for your enemies. I hope you're not...."   
"No, Scully. I don't trust him, I don't believe him, and I'm not going to let him get away with anything." His face was flushed. "You knew right from the start, didn't you? You never liked him."   
She smiled faintly. She'd like to think she'd been that perceptive. "Mulder, I was jealous. He was your new partner. And he gave you something I never could. He believed."   
"But it was a lie."   
"Was it? If what he told you at that warehouse was true...."   
"That was just another lie. Or if it wasn't—it doesn't matter. He was working against me all along. I can't let anything he says mean anything to me."   
"Then why meet with him?"   
Mulder covered his face with his hand, and rubbed his forehead. "I don't know." Sighing, he looked at Scully. "I have to. Even if I don't believe any of it, I have to know what he has to say. Will you come with me?"   
She looked at him for a moment, then nodded. 

* * *

Krycek frowned at them as they approached, hands jammed into his jacket pockets, pacing in short, two-step bursts back and forth on the sidewalk. He wore his usual black leather and jeans, his hair slicked back, grim and bitter.   
Krycek ignored Scully, and looked only at Mulder. "I thought you'd come alone."   
"We did," Mulder replied smoothly. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Scully suppressing a smile.   
Krycek pressed his lips together, resentment and pain flaring briefly before the grim frown returned. "Fine. You're joined at the hip; I should have known."   
"What do you want, Alex?" Mulder spoke softly, offering the first name in a gesture of appeasement.   
Which only resulted in a narrowing of the eyes, and another flash of pain. Krycek opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it and looked away. He shut his eyes briefly, then turned back to Mulder. It was as if Scully weren't there. Abruptly, he said, "I found the original of that database."   
The words sent an electric tingle through Mulder. "Where?"   
"In Crystal City. There's an industrial complex there, with one big white building all by itself at the end. That's where I delivered the equipment that was in that warehouse. I overheard part of a conversation I wasn't supposed to hear. Since then, I've done a little quiet poking around. All the records are there. All the ones that are so sensitive, they're not on the net."   
"What's the address?" Mulder's heart was pounding. It had to be a lie, of course, some kind of trap, but it would be a good lie, and the best lies were always closest to the truth....   
Krycek named an address which Mulder memorized. Mulder's photographic memory kept an image of an Arlington map. He located the address, and tested it against what he knew of the neighborhood. So far so good. "Can you help us get in?"   
A slight noise of protest from Scully. Mulder, like Krycek, ignored her.   
"Maybe." Krycek's cool hazel eyes appraised him. Krycek's eyes were exactly the same color as Mulder's own. Physically, there were no other similarities, except that Krycek was within an inch of him in height, but those hazel eyes stared back at him like the reflection in some dark, sinister mirror. "I'm not going to get myself killed over this."   
"I don't plan to get killed over it, either," Mulder replied mildly.   
"You think it's a trap, don't you?" Bitterness like acid burned through his words. Was it for Mulder's insistence on having Scully there? The humiliation of their last encounter? Or simply the impossible strain of the duplicitous game he was playing?   
"I'd be a fool to trust you, wouldn't I, Alex?" Mulder allowed a mocking tone to creep into his voice. "Do you think I'm a fool?"   
"No, you're not a fool." Dripping acid.   
_If you touched him, you'd burn your hand._ "Then you know I need more than this."   
"What do you need, Mulder? What do you need from me?" His low voice had a touch of huskiness that made it all but disappear when he spoke this softly. It made you lean closer, straining to hear him, watching his face carefully, creating a false intimacy, seductive and sweet.   
"Why are you telling us this?" Scully's voice broke in, causing Mulder to start, and Krycek to take a step back, glaring at her for a moment before his gaze returned to Mulder.   
"Good question," Mulder said. "Why, Alex?"   
Krycek looked away. When he turned back to Mulder, his eyes beseeched Mulder to send Scully away and talk to him alone.   
Mulder shook his head, a small motion that sent more pain cascading down Krycek's face. "We're joined at the hip, remember?"   
Krycek stared at Mulder, accusing. There was recrimination in his gaze, intimate anger, and longing. Mulder chewed his lip, feeling the heat in his face. God, what must Scully be thinking? He'd been insane to bring her here.   
Then Krycek cleared his throat. He stared at the ground as he spoke. "All I ever wanted, for as long as I can remember, was to work for the FBI." He paused, pulling his jacket more tightly around him, hands still in his pockets. "I took law and political science classes in college. I didn't care what my degree was in, as long as it would get me into the Academy. I applied the minute I was old enough."   
He looked at Mulder. "It wasn't any big secret that I was interested in the X-Files. I was curious. I wanted to know everything. I saw how you'd get your teeth into something, and just wouldn't let go. How you'd stand up to anybody in your search for the truth. I wanted to be like that." He looked away again, shoulders hunched.   
"When he first came to me, he made it sound like I'd be protecting you. 'Mulder's gotten into a dangerous situation,' he told me. 'Since the X-Files have been shut down, he's become obsessed with investigating his own government. He must be turned from this course. We don't want him harmed.' "   
_Just enough of the truth,_ Mulder thought. But who was the liar? The Smoking Man, or Krycek? Or both?   
"Of course, he never mentioned to me that other people might be harmed. Well, I can't really say that. 'We are sometimes forced to do unpleasant things for the greater good. National security is at stake.' " Krycek mimicked perfectly the smooth, monotonous tones of the Smoking Man's voice. He was really a very good actor. "I believed him, then. I thought I was serving my country. Protecting its secrets. Some things were too dangerous to know, even for you."   
"And now?" Mulder asked.   
"Now?" The bitterness was back, thick and searing. "Now I'm a thug. My career in the FBI is over. And I'm... delivering computer equipment, and changing water filters, and... I still don't know anything. I don't know what I'm protecting. I'm just supposed to do what I'm told, follow orders, no matter what they are...."   
He paused, took a deep breath, and continued with quiet intensity. "For all I know, he's right, and helping you is a big mistake. But I've done things - the kind of things you don't want to do without knowing why. And if I go down for this, I'm not going to go down saying 'I was only following orders.'"   
Krycek's searing bitterness was almost too painful to look at. _He's a very good actor. Or... ?_ But the best lies were the closest to the truth. He pictured his enemy, cigarette smoke wreathed about his fingers, saying, _Just bring Mulder to us. One last task, and then we won't require anything further of you. You can be reinstated in the FBI, if you wish. There's no evidence against you, only Mulder's report, and he won't be a problem any longer._   
But Krycek would be a fool to believe the Smoking Man would ever let him walk away. He didn't know anything; but he knew too much. And Krycek was no fool. So which way would he jump?   
"Does he know that you're here?" Mulder asked.   
"No." That quiet voice, just a slight shake of the head and motion of the lips, the word itself nearly inaudible. It begged, demanded to be believed, far more than a loud, insistent answer would have.   
"Does he know you want out?"   
A quick glance away, then a more emphatic, "No."   
Mulder didn't say anything, just looked at him.   
Krycek started to say something several times, then finally, "I don't know. Maybe he does. What difference does it make?"   
"Well, assuming you're telling the truth, and you came to me on your own, I have to wonder just how carefully you've covered your tracks, and whether or not he knows about that conversation you overheard, and whether this might be a setup on his part to trap both of us."   
Krycek laughed—a brief laugh, but genuine. "Mulder, you really are paranoid."   
Mulder smiled back at him. "It's what keeps me alive."   
A thoughtful frown, as Krycek weighed the possibilities. "I don't think so. I mean, I can see an elaborate setup like this for you, but why bother with me? He could get rid of me any time he wants to."   
"Because you're already in it. You're doing his work for him. All he has to do is sit back and reel us in."   
Krycek shook his head. "I don't think so." He shrugged. "I suppose it's possible. But that address is genuine. You can check it out yourselves."   
"We will. But Alex—I'm not going in there alone. If we decide this is for real, if we decide we can trust you—you're going to help us."   
A strangled laugh. "My neck's on the chopping block beside yours, is that it?"   
Mulder nodded. "Exactly."   
"Fine. Fine." Cold and bitter again, Krycek paced two short steps, speaking to the ground at his feet. "You don't believe me, why should you believe me?" Suddenly, he stepped right up to Mulder, only inches between them. "Do what you have to do. Check it out. Then you let me know what you want from me."   
Once again, Scully's voice broke in on the interchange between the two men, startling them both. "Can you get us a copy of the database file?"   
"No." Krycek directed that one word to Scully, then dismissed her again. To Mulder, he said, "What would be the point?"   
Mulder nodded. What indeed? They would have no way of knowing if such a copy had been tampered with. It would be useless to them. And the Smoking Man would know that Mulder and Scully would not trust Krycek to bring the data to them—they would have to go in and find it for themselves. A wonderfully clever trap. If it was a trap. "We'll look into it and let you know," Mulder told Krycek.   
Krycek nodded abruptly, then turned to walk away. Mulder grabbed him by the arm. Krycek whirled, glaring, but made no attempt to break away.   
"Wait," Mulder said, then turned to Scully. "I'll be a minute. Meet you at the car."   
Scully also scowled. No doubt she was wondering why she'd come to this meeting in the first place. Then she nodded, and left them alone.   
"What?" Krycek pulled his arm out of Mulder's grip.   
Mulder blushed. He reached into his inside coat pocket and brought out the handkerchief. "I just wanted to return this."   
Krycek took the handkerchief, then turned away, eyes tightly shut and knuckles pressed to his mouth. When he looked back at Mulder, his face was pale and shot through with pain. "Not necessary."   
"I wanted to. Alex...." He took a deep breath. What was there to say?   
"Yeah." Krycek pushed the handkerchief into his jacket pocket and turned blindly. He disappeared quickly around the corner, leaving Mulder alone in the sidewalk. 

* * *

Scully sat in the passenger seat of the car, staring straight ahead, lips pressed firmly together. Mulder steeled himself as he slid into the driver's side. "Scully... ?"   
She took a deep breath, then shook her head, smiling ruefully. "Tell me again why you wanted me to come with you to meet him?"   
"Sorry. I was hoping it would be a little less intense if you were there."   
"Mulder, are you sure you told me everything about what went on between you two?"   
"Yes." And how was he going to expect her to believe that, when he was blushing like a schoolboy? But what else could he tell her? That he had dreams about Krycek? That when Krycek stood face to face with him, the hair on the back of his neck stood up? That he could not stop thinking about what it had felt like to have Krycek pinned beneath him and his cock up Krycek's ass? "I didn't mean to shut you out."   
"Mulder, I hope you're going to be able to be rational about this. We can't trust him. Letting him lead us into a secure government installation would be insane."   
"You didn't believe him?"   
She pressed her lips together thoughtfully. "If he was lying, he was doing an excellent job of it. He's obviously in a lot of pain about something." She flashed him a brief smile. "I'd love to get him on a polygraph sometime."   
He managed to smile back. "So would I. Think he'd go for it?"   
"But even if he is sincere, there's always the possibility that he's being set up as well. It's just too dangerous."   
"But Scully, if that building really does contain the original of the database, as well as who knows what other data, we have to at least think about trying to get in."   
"We can think about it. But if it looks too risky...." She shook her head, sighing. "I don't know why I'm even talking to you about it. You're going to do it anyway, aren't you?"   
"It's the best chance we'll ever have to find the truth about that database. Don't you want to know that?"   
"Of course I do. But I don't want to get killed trying to find out."   
"We'll be careful, I promise. I don't want to get killed either. This is just too good a chance to pass up." He should listen to her. He should not take foolish chances. He should not under any circumstances trust Alex Krycek.   
He already knew that he would. 

* * *

Mulder returned to the microfiche records. The address Krycek had given him proved to be even more difficult to trace than Quaid-Markham, but the trail led eventually to the same end—Purity Control.   
Scully had decided to investigate Krycek himself. "He graduated from Dartmouth in nineteen ninety with a degree in political science. His grades were excellent." She sat on the edge of Mulder's desk, reading from her notes. "He was twenty-three, the minimum age for acceptance at the FBI Academy, when he attended in nineteen ninety-two. He was fourteenth in his class."   
Mulder sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.   
Scully looked up from the computer. "I talked to several of his instructors. They all said he was very bright, that they expected him to do well."   
"So we know he's smart. Anything else?"   
"I talked to a couple of his classmates. He had a nickname at the Academy." She paused, biting her lip. " 'Spooky, Junior.' "   
Mulder's stomach lurched. "So it's true."   
"It would seem so."   
Mulder took a deep breath, and shook his head. "Everything he's told us that we've been able to verify has been true."   
"Well, it would be, wouldn't it? He wouldn't lie about anything we could check up on."   
"No. Scully, did anyone say anything about Krycek's personal life? You know, friends, or... girlfriends?"   
She looked at him appraisingly. He hated that look. Sometimes he felt like she could see right through him. "No. He apparently had no close friends among his classmates. Whatever his private life was, he kept it to himself."   
Mulder nodded. Although there was no official policy against gays in the FBI, there were always ways to keep open homosexuals out. If one wanted to go far in the Bureau, it was best to stay in the closet. Not get too close to anyone. Lead a double life. Good training for a counter-agent.   
"You're planning to go through with this, aren't you?" Scully asked.   
"I have to. You don't have to come with me."   
She looked away, frowning. Then she turned back to him, her blue eyes intense. "You know I'll come with you. But, if I'm going to risk my life on this—on Alex Krycek's word—I have to know the whole story. Everything that went on between you two. I think I have a right to know."   
She'd gone through so much with him. Sometimes he thought he'd do anything for her. He wouldn't, really, of course. Not quite anything. His obsession came first, before anything else, even Scully. But he wished it were true. She deserved that. And she deserved to know, now, what she was getting herself into by getting involved with him and his sick relationship with Krycek. She was right. He would have to tell her. And he would die of humiliation.   
He stood, and took his suit jacket off the back of his chair. "Not here. Let's go to my place." They were safe enough, isolated down here in the basement. No one would come down, or overhear. It still felt far too public for the things he had to tell her. And maybe he was stalling just a bit, hoping that between here and his apartment a miracle would occur and he wouldn't have to go through with it.   
But no miracles occurred. They drove to his building in silence, went up the stairs, sat in their usual places on couch and easy chair.   
Mulder stood. "Do you want some coffee?"   
"Mulder, sit down. Just tell me. You're only making it harder."   
He sat. He wished she wasn't sitting right across from him. He stared at the coffee table, unable to look at her. "All right. It happened the night after he brought me the tape. He showed up at my apartment at three in the morning." He took a deep breath. All right, just keep talking, just get it out and get it over with. "We talked. We were both angry. I accused him of wanting to get into bed with me. He... one thing led to another, and we ended up in bed. It... wasn't very nice." He shut his eyes tightly and prayed for the earth to open up and swallow him.   
Very long moments passed. Mulder couldn't open his eyes, couldn't bear to look at her. To see the shock and disgust on her face. To confront her disappointment.   
Her words were unnaturally calm. "I hope you were... safe."   
He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He opened his eyes. She was wearing her "doctor face"—only this time it was pale and severely strained. "Scully, I don't know if you could call anything about it 'safe,' but, yes, I used a condom." _And just told her who did what to whom._ He cringed.   
She seemed, amazingly, relieved. _So she doesn't want me to shrivel up and die of AIDS. It doesn't mean she still has a shred of respect for me._ She asked, "Is he in love with you?"   
Love? That was a very frightening thought. "I don't know. If he is, it's an extremely sick sort of love."   
"What about you?"   
"No! Scully, I—it wasn't like that. It was just anger, and frustration, and—he started it." And that was an incredibly stupid thing to say. "Scully, I don't know why I did it. At the time, I just wanted to punish him. And he - he let me do it."   
"He probably knew you'd die of guilt over it."   
She was being so calm. So understanding. He was going to start crying in a minute. Was it possible to feel any more humiliated? "He wasn't very happy about it either. He cried all the way out the door."   
She looked away, hand on her mouth. Her "doctor face" was failing. She shifted in her chair, and forced her composure to return. "Well, that explains the pain he was in, anyway." She turned to Mulder. "But, Mulder, it's all the more reason for you not to trust him now. You can't seriously believe, after all that, that he means to help you."   
"I don't know, Scully. Why did he help me after what I did to him in the warehouse? Why did he bring me that tape? I haven't been able to figure out anything he's done. I wouldn't assume there are any easy answers about why he's coming to me now."   
"Mulder...." She paused, struggling again to keep her calm demeanor. "Have you talked to him since... ?"   
"No. Not until today."   
"Well, don't you think you should? Try to get things straight between you?"   
"I'm not exactly proud of how I acted. But compared to what he did—I don't really feel like I owe him any apologies."   
"Then how can you want to go through with this? Mulder, this is insane. Talk to him. Or forget about it." She stood up, abruptly, began putting on her coat.   
"Scully...."   
She stood before him. Outwardly, she was calm; but she had a redhead's volatile temperament all the same. She just held it still and under control. The fire was in those sapphire eyes, and the set of her full mouth, all the more forceful because she didn't bluster and shout. "Mulder, I understand. You have very strong feelings towards him. Anger, frustration, the need to control can express themselves as sexual impulses. Especially when there's some attraction—on his part at least. But you have to deal with it now. You have to get a grip on yourself. Or this whole thing is going to blow up in our faces."   
He nodded. "I know, but—I'm afraid if I try to talk to him, I'm just going to make things worse."   
"Then let's forget it. We can get at the truth some other way. Some way that doesn't involve Krycek."   
"I can't forget it," he mumbled.   
"Then I'll talk to him. I should talk to him alone, anyway. Can you set up a meeting?"   
"Scully... why do you want to talk to him?"   
"I just think I should see for myself whether or not I think he can be trusted. And as long as you're there, he's not going to hear a word I say."   
Another long pause. "I don't know if he'll do it."   
"If he doesn't, he doesn't. Will you try, though?"   
A big sigh. "All right. I'll try." Then he stood. "I'll drive you home." He couldn't talk about it any more; he felt like he was going to be sick.   
She shook her head. "I'll get a cab. You look pretty shaken up." She smiled sympathetically. "It's all right, Mulder. Call me later, if you want."He felt that he should protest, insist on taking her home. But she was right, he felt completely drained. He just stood there, dumbly, and watched her leave. 

* * *

Scully sat on a cool limestone bench, engraved with the sayings of Kahlil Gibran, watching the hypnotic waters of the fountain splash, sipping coffee from a styrofoam cup. It was lovely and peaceful here, a tiny oasis of calm in the frantic city. Whatever else one might think of Krycek, he had good taste in clandestine meeting places.   
She'd thought a lot about Krycek during the past few days, and still couldn't make up her mind what she felt about him. She'd never been Krycek's partner, never been tempted to like the man, or to trust him. She'd only met him a few times. The first time was over an autopsy—she'd been rude to him, resenting him for working with Mulder, and he'd nearly thrown up at the sight of the partially autopsied body on the table. Not a very auspicious meeting. Then, when Duane Barry had taken Mulder hostage and she'd gone to the scene with the information she'd found, Krycek had met her, telling her to calm down. She'd snapped at him and brushed him aside. So she had her own bad behavior towards Krycek to deal with—nothing on the scale of what had gone on between him and Mulder, but still her pettiness bothered her. Krycek had always been perfectly professional towards her.   
As for Krycek's betrayals—well, he was just a man doing a job. That job happened to be working for their enemies—but she didn't take it personally, like Mulder did. Watch out for him, surely; arrest him if there was evidence for it; never trust him. But hate him? It just wasn't in her. Even his part in her abduction didn't stir much beyond a tightly controlled anger, whose heat she kept firmly banked down. She would not let it sway her judgment of him now. Nor would she fall for his air of tortured innocence. Someone must be the voice of logic and reason in all this; and, as usual, that lot fell to her. 

  


Krycek was right on time. He stood for a moment on the other side of the fountain, watching her through the spray of the water, an inscrutable expression on his face. The thought flashed unbidden: _Mulder had sex with him._ Touched those plush, round lips with his own. Felt those strong, slender hands on his body. An image of the two of them entangled, naked, appeared in her mind. Embarrassed, she pushed it away, even as her body tingled.   
Then he nodded slightly, and walked around the fountain to sit on the bench beside her. He sat with his hands jammed into his jacket pockets, staring straight ahead.   
Scully picked up the other styrofoam cup sitting on the bench beside her and held it out to him. "Coffee?"   
He looked at her, startled, then took the cup. "Thanks," he mumbled.   
"It's black. I didn't know how you take it."   
"I like cream. But it's all right," he hurried to add, taking a sip to show her it was acceptable. "I...." He stopped, gave a strangled laugh. "I was going to say, in the FBI we learn to drink anything." He looked away.   
Scully bit her lip. Well, so much for not letting him get to her. "Krycek...."   
"I suppose I should thank you," he interrupted.   
"You already did."   
"Not for the coffee." There was that tortured laugh again. "For saving my life. I suppose now you're wishing you'd gone ahead and let Mulder shoot me."   
She had come upon the two them outside Mulder's apartment building. Out of his mind with drugs, Mulder stood holding a gun on Krycek, about to pull the trigger. She'd only been thinking about Mulder—afraid he'd throw his career and his life away with this horrible act of madness and revenge. She'd stopped Mulder from firing in the only way she could—by shooting him in the shoulder. She remembered the look of shock on Krycek's face, in the split-second before he'd grabbed his freedom and run like hell.   
"No, I don't regret what I did. But I did it for Mulder, not for you."   
"Of course." Krycek had gone cold. He set his coffee cup down on the bench beside him. "What do you want, Scully? Is this a tag-team thing now? Mulder's going to sit this one out while you have a go at me?" Biting resentment smoldered in those lovely, dark-lashed hazel eyes.   
Oh, yes, she could see how he'd gotten to Mulder. Right into bed, and then cried about it afterward, just to pile on a little more guilt. "You're very good."   
He shot her a look. "What do you mean?"   
"You're a manipulative little bastard, aren't you?"   
For a moment, he just stared. Then, to her surprise, his face softened and he smiled ironically. "I do my best."   
She found herself smiling back. _And this is all just part of the game, isn't it?_ "Well, can we try turning it off for a while? You've got Mulder so twisted up he doesn't know what he's doing. If you really cared for him, you wouldn't want to do that to him."   
Krycek frowned, running a hand through his dark hair. "I care. But it's hard to be nice to somebody who hates you so much. He twists himself up, Scully, that's not all my doing."   
No doubt there was some truth to that. "He told me everything that happened. I don't think adding sex to the situation was exactly calculated to keep things calm."   
His mouth hung open. "He told you that? Jesus." He stared at the ground, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "I don't believe it. You really are joined at the hip, aren't you?"   
Scully felt herself reddening at his obvious discomfort. "He didn't want to tell me. And, ordinarily, I wouldn't pry into his private life. But my life is on the line with this. I felt I had to know the whole story."   
"And now that you know?" he asked quietly, still not looking at her.   
"It doesn't change my relationship with him, if that's what you mean."   
He turned his head to look up at her. _It's the eyelashes,_ she thought. _He can't help looking like a wide-eyed innocent. He doesn't even know he's doing it half the time._ But the words were not so innocent. "Don't you sleep with him?"   
Her face was hot. But it was a fair question. "No, I don't. He's my partner."   
"Don't you want to?"   
She definitely did not owe him the answer to that. But perhaps confidence would inspire confidence. Yet how to explain her feelings for Mulder? She cared for him deeply, but only with a certain restraint. Sometimes he felt to her like a gaping black hole of need; she was afraid to get too close, knowing he would consume her. She felt it her responsibility to stand clear of that maelstrom of obsessive emotion, ready to pull him back when it threatened to overwhelm him. She could not give him the blind loyalty of a lover.   
But Krycek wasn't afraid, was he? He walked right into Mulder's blinding passion and fury, let it have him, and came back in bitter pain, ready to take it again. The only question was, was he doing it for Mulder, or for Mulder's enemies?   
"Mulder's my friend," she began, finally breaking the silence. "I care a great deal for him. And he's attractive, there's no doubt about that."   
Krycek's tight smile showed his agreement.   
She continued, "But I have to maintain a certain distance. I have to be able to tell him when he's getting off track, even when it means making him angry, or hurting him, temporarily. He needs someone to do that for him."   
"You don't think he should do this, do you?" He was more resigned than bitter, now.   
She allowed herself to smile at him. "There's only so much I can do. I can't go around shooting him all the time."   
He returned the smile. "You think that's the only way to stop him?"   
She sighed. "Probably. He wants that information very badly."   
"Do you think, if I give it to him, he'll stop hating me?"   
"I don't know. You put him through a lot of pain. But... I don't think hate is the only thing he feels for you."   
"I know. If it was, I wouldn't bother."   
She looked at him curiously. "You know, it's so easy to forget that you know exactly what you're doing."   
He shook his head. "I don't know what I'm doing, Scully. He twists me up as bad as I twist him. I shouldn't be doing this. But it's the only thing I can do."   
Scully took a deep breath. "You know, I think I believe you."   
"And you didn't even have to put a gun to my head."   
She lifted an eyebrow.   
He shrugged, grinning. "Bad joke. Ask Mulder. You're going along, then?"   
She nodded. "It's the only thing I can do, too." 

* * *

Mulder prowled unhappily around his apartment. Scully's meeting with Krycek had gone satisfactorily, but she still wanted Mulder to talk to him before they made up their minds. She was right, of course. He had to try to settle things with Krycek, at least in his own mind; he had to do what he could to make sure that Krycek didn't jump in some unexpected direction under stress, right in the middle of a break-in.   
He started up his computer and sent a one-line e-mail message to Skippy1121: _I need to talk to you._ Then he lay down on the couch and picked up the TV remote. He had a feeling he would not sleep tonight. 

* * *

The knock on the door woke him from a light doze. He moaned and pushed himself upright, the remote falling to the floor as he sat up. His heart thudded. Two in the morning. It had to be Krycek. Why couldn't the man visit at a reasonable hour?   
"Who is it?" He yawned as he called through the door.   
"It's me, let me in." Krycek.   
Mulder sighed opened the door. "What is it, Krycek?"   
Krycek spread his arms. "You wanted to see me. I'm here."   
_I didn't mean at two in the morning._ Still, he stepped aside and let Krycek come in. He caught a slight whiff of alcohol as Krycek passed. _Great, he's drunk._ But he was steady on his feet. Steadier, in fact, than Mulder, who was still groggy from being awakened.   
The usual black leather. A strand of dark hair in his face. "What do you want, Mulder? Have you decided what you want to do?" A slight expansiveness was the only indication that he was under the influence. But there was a strange glint in his eyes.   
"Maybe. First I need to talk to you."   
"Why? You never believe anything I tell you anyway."   
"I want to believe." The irony of his saying that to Krycek was not lost on either of them. "You still haven't told me anything that makes sense. Why are you doing this, Krycek?"   
Krycek prowled around Mulder's apartment. "I never meant for my life to turn out like this." He stopped and looked at Mulder, choked out a despairing laugh. "I screwed up big time."   
"I know. But that still doesn't explain why you are helping me."   
"Am I helping you?"   
"You say you are."   
He grinned at Mulder. It was a desperate grin. "I'm giving you information. Maybe that information won't help you. Maybe you'd be better off without it."   
"Maybe. But I still want to know why you're doing it."   
Krycek stepped up to Mulder, jabbed him in the chest. "Because you're the one, Mulder."   
Mulder pushed Krycek's hand away, and took him by the shoulders. "Make sense, Krycek. What one?"   
"You're the fox, Fox." He giggled. "You know, in Japanese legend, demons often take the form of a fox. Vengeful ghosts. Betrayed women. They come back as foxes to seek their revenge."   
"You're drunk." Mulder released him, and stepped away wearily. "Why don't you go home?"   
Krycek drew himself up. "I'm not drunk." Then he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. "Maybe this is just the real me."   
"Then tell me. How does the real you feel about me?"   
His grin dissolved, sharply, into shards of pain. "How do you feel about me, Fox?" He used Mulder's first name as a battering ram. "Do you hate me? Do you hate me so much you just can't think of enough ways to hurt me? Beat me and try to kill me, shove a gun down my throat, fuck me.... You told Scully about what you did to me, for God's sake, do you have any idea how humiliating that is? What now, Mulder? What's on the agenda for tonight?"   
Mulder swallowed uneasily. "Look, about what happened last time...."   
"The sex, you mean? You want to do it again? I'll do it again." There was a wild look in his eyes.   
"No, I...."   
But Krycek hadn't waited for Mulder's answer. He stepped forward and slipped his hands around Mulder's waist, sinking down to his knees. Then his hands were rubbing Mulder's hips, stroking his groin, inflaming desire with a practiced touch. Mulder groaned, tried to step back. But his knees had turned to water. _This is not supposed to happen again._ But his mind was a haze of conflicting emotions. Did he owe Krycek this, for last time? And why the hell did it feel so good?   
Now Krycek was unbuttoning Mulder's jeans, easing them down over his hips, running his hands over sensitive exposed skin. His smooth cheek and warm lips rubbed against Mulder's groin, nuzzling his cock ever-so-gently. Mulder's mental debate was fast disintegrating, sense abandoned to sensuality. _I'm going to hell,_ he thought, _and Alex Krycek is the devil._ Then Krycek flicked his hot, wet tongue over the head of Mulder's hard cock. And Mulder's half-formed protest died.   
Krycek cupped Mulder's balls in his hand, then circled the base of Mulder's cock with strong fingers. The other hand gripped Mulder's hip. Moist lips and swirling tongue sucked him in. Mulder gasped, thrust into Krycek's mouth, tightened his fingers in Krycek's hair. _All right, let it happen._ Pure sex. It meant nothing; it was just bodies clashing. Krycek's hand massaged his hip, then felt between his buttocks. Mulder grabbed Krycek's wrist and pulled his hand away.   
Krycek let Mulder's cock slide out of his mouth, and got to his feet. His smile was cold. "What's the matter, Mulder, you can dish it out, but you can't take it?" Mulder was prevented from answering by Krycek's mouth on his. He tasted the tongue that had just been on his cock. Krycek rubbed against him, and slid his hands down Mulder's back to grip his bare buttocks. Mulder clutched at Krycek's black leather, then suddenly pushed Krycek away and stood with his hands on the waistband of his pants to keep them from falling any further, searching Krycek's face. He felt a tiny chill at the triumph he saw there.   
Krycek smiled. "Don't look so scared, Mulder. I'm not going to hurt you."   
"You'll understand why I don't exactly trust you."   
Krycek flinched. "I'm not the one who plays power games in bed."   
Mulder felt sick. "I... I'm sorry about that. That's why I really wanted to talk to you, to apologize. I didn't mean to be so rough."   
Krycek laughed. "You think that was rough? Haven't done it with men much, have you?"   
"Then what's the problem?" Mulder began pulling his pants up, slowly.   
"Mulder, I just thought if I let you do what you wanted, you might stop hating me so much. You didn't."   
"How do you know? You didn't really stick around long enough to find out."   
"God, Mulder. How long do you think it takes? You couldn't get away from me fast enough. I thought you were going to throw me in the trash with the condom."   
"Krycek, I... it was a mistake. I'm sorry."   
"No, the mistake was thinking that sex for you was going to be anything more than just another way to punish me."   
"Well, what about now? This is your way of punishing me, isn't it?"   
Krycek stepped closer to him, and put one hand on his, stopping his distracted and not-very-effective attempts to get his pants back on. "I don't want to punish you. I want this to be the best sex you've ever had. I want this to be so good, you'll never be able to forget it, no matter how hard you try." He took both of Mulder's hands in his, lifted them to his mouth, kissed the knuckles gently. "I want to be the face you see in your wet dreams." He released Mulder's hands, stroked Mulder's temple, traced his fingers lightly down the curve of Mulder's jaw. "I want you to think about me every time you lay down with someone else, for the rest of your life." He ran his hand through Mulder's hair, then leaned forward to place a warm kiss on Mulder's lips. "I want to haunt you until the day you die."   
Mulder's erection, which had begun to fade when he'd stepped away from Krycek, was now full and hard again. "You already do."   
Krycek smiled sadly. "Not the way you haunt me, Mulder. No way."   
Mulder took Krycek's face in his hands. Such a young, innocent face. Mulder remembered the way Krycek had looked after he shot Augustus Cole—scared, shaky, panicking because he couldn't find the gun he'd been sure Cole had. He'd thought he was saving Mulder's life. He remembered the way Krycek had brought him coffee that horrible day after Scully had been taken, and asked how he'd slept in a voice so gentle he could hardly hear it. Mulder wanted that kid back. He didn't want to know the other things Krycek had done—the reports to his enemies, the interference, the spying. And other, worse things. But those things had been done; the innocence was a lie. He could not trust this man, no matter how sweetly he talked or how skillfully he made love. He must not allow himself to be seduced.   
But it was a little late for that, wasn't it? Let Krycek have his way. Then it would be over, and Krycek would have no more hold on him. "All right. Do what you want."   
Krycek smiled and, with a slight inclination of the head to invite Mulder to go with him, went into the bedroom. Mulder took a deep breath and followed.   
Krycek dug in his jacket pocket and brought out a small tube of KY jelly and a condom, which he placed on the nightstand. Mulder swallowed nervously. Had he imagined that Krycek might not demand this of him? It was only fair. But it scared him far more than he wanted to admit.   
Krycek took off his jacket and tossed it onto the chair, then stepped up to Mulder and slipped his arms around him, stroking Mulder's back as he pulled his tee-shirt up. "Just in case," he whispered in Mulder's ear. "I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to do." He looked into Mulder's eyes with a sly smile. "You get as many chances to say no as you want."   
And with Krycek reminding him of how Mulder had taken him, how could he say no to anything? Especially when Krycek was pulling off his tee-shirt, kissing his neck, nibbling at his earlobe, stroking his chest, teasing his nipples with his thumbs. _I really have to get laid more often,_ Mulder thought; he could almost forget how good it felt to have someone else's hands on his body. And, give him his due, Krycek was good. Not since Phoebe Green had anyone been able to ignite such fire in him. Although maybe it wasn't the skill so much as the danger, the certain knowledge that he was heading straight for disaster, that led Mulder into these doomed, passionate affairs. Mulder had never been one to play it safe, nor to look for longevity in relationships.   
He sighed and reached out for Krycek. Between caresses, they undressed each other, dropping clothing carelessly in the floor, stroking the skin they uncovered. Mulder, naked, knelt before Krycek, sliding the jeans down Krycek's legs, pulling them free of each foot as he stepped out of them. Mulder kissed each knee in turn, ran his hands up Krycek's legs to his thighs. Krycek's hard cock bobbed before his face. He hesitated a moment before running his tongue along the shaft, and taking the head of the cock into his mouth. Krycek moaned, and his hips stiffened, but he did not thrust. Krycek was being gentle; it was almost more frightening than if he'd been rough and demanding. Mulder let the cock slide deeper into his mouth, moving his tongue on the silky skin, bringing one hand up to grip the base of the shaft. He was not terribly good at giving blow jobs, he knew, but he would do his best. If he could satisfy Krycek this way, perhaps he wouldn't be required to yield anything else. And Krycek was responding—his breathing had quickened, the hip beneath Mulder's hand was moist with sweat, his hands twisted in Mulder's hair.   
Then a few drops of slick liquid oozed onto his tongue. Unprepared for the sharp taste, he managed not to shudder, but his rhythm was interrupted. Krycek pulled away, gently, and sank to his knees in front of Mulder, with a reassuring smile. He kissed Mulder deeply, probing tongue taking the taste of the precome away.   
Hands on Mulder's shoulders, Krycek urged them over onto the futon. Mulder was not quite sure how he ended up on his back, with Krycek on top of him, lying between his legs. His hard cock moved against Krycek's, which was still wet from Mulder's tongue. They kissed, rubbing their bodies together. Mulder felt himself heating, dissolving into the deep, wet kisses and the sweaty friction of chest and stomach and groin sliding over him. Then Krycek slipped his hand between them, and began to stroke Mulder's cock. Mulder moved his hips, trying to thrust into Krycek's grip. Krycek ran his hand up and down the shaft, squeezing and stroking, working him nearly to a frenzy. Then he cupped Mulder's balls in his hand, squeezing gently, then probed past to the tight ring of Mulder's anus. His fingers stroked the entrance lightly. Mulder whimpered; his knees came up, spreading to expose himself more fully to this intimate caress. A tiny voice whispered to him that he must protest; his body demanded more. The voice ignored, he lifted his hips to meet the invasion.   
Krycek took his hand away, leaving Mulder gasping and aching for his touch. He reached to the nightstand and took the tube of KY, squeezing it out onto his fingers. Then he slipped his hand back between Mulder's legs, and resumed his probing caress.   
The jelly was slippery and cool between Mulder's buttocks. The tender flesh, unaccustomed to sex play, throbbed with sensation. Then Krycek's finger slid inside him, unerringly finding the spot that sent explosive waves of pleasure through him. Mulder moaned, gripping Krycek tightly with hands and thighs. He rocked with the strokes of Krycek's finger, pleasure only increasing when a second finger joined the first.   
Presently, Krycek stopped stroking, leaving his fingers unmoving inside Mulder's body. Mulder looked at him, silent plea on his face. Krycek smiled. "First time?"   
"No." Mulder's reply was a ragged whisper. But, be honest, he was not exactly experienced at this. "Second."   
Krycek kissed him. "All right, then. You get the almost-a-virgin special." He kissed him again, then kissed Mulder's chin and throat, and trailed kisses down his chest and stomach, moving down between Mulder's legs until he was kissing Mulder's cock, sucking him in. He began to move his fingers again, and Mulder was caught between the sensations of entering and being entered. He groaned and bucked, knowing he would not last long like this.   
But Krycek did not give him long. Soon he released Mulder's cock and sat back on his heels, letting his fingers slide out. Mulder lay gasping for breath. He looked up at Krycek, who was also breathing hard, sweaty spikes of dark hair hanging in heavy-lidded eyes, his face suffused with passion. Krycek took the condom from the nightstand and tore it from its foil wrapping, closing his eyes as he rolled it onto a cock stiff and throbbing with need. Then he took the KY and applied the cool jelly to his latex-covered cock, and more to Mulder's ass.   
He smiled at Mulder. "Ready?"   
Mulder could only nod. He felt a slight thrill of fear as Krycek lifted his legs, pressing his knees to his chest, and settled between them, with his cock pressing against the entrance to Mulder's body. _You can say no any time,_ he reminded himself. But he did not want to stop, he just wanted reassurance that Krycek was not going to hurt him. But what good was reassurance, when you didn't trust anyone? Especially not Krycek, who'd shown decisively that he was not worthy of Mulder's trust. He would just have to hope that Krycek meant what he said about wanting it to be good for him. This was insane, he thought; Krycek was the last person in the world he should allow to do this. He could hardly remember the reasons he'd thought it necessary. All that was left, now, was a body brought to the edge and still demanding release. A body that knew no better than to respond to a traitor's touch.   
But while Mulder's doubts raged, Krycek continued to press into him—not even a thrust, just a gradually increasing pressure, that, from the strained look on his face, was requiring great concentration and restraint. Mulder could not help pushing back, seeking further penetration. Krycek stopped, then, relaxed for a moment, took a deep breath and began to move slowly in and out, still a gentle motion too restrained to be called a thrust. Mulder could feel himself opening up, taking in more; he knew when he was ready, and thrust himself forward onto Krycek's cock, fingers digging into Krycek's shoulders, his own cries mingling with Krycek's as he impaled himself fully.   
Mulder wrapped his arms tightly around Krycek's back. Krycek's cock stretched and filled him. Krycek began to thrust in earnest, now, still slowly at first, gradually increasing in speed and depth. Mulder just hung on and let Krycek set the pace. His cock scraped against Krycek's belly, as Krycek's cock stroked into him. It was an intense pleasure, more diffuse than the heat of fucking, which centered in cock and balls—this filled his whole body, right out to his fingertips.   
Krycek's movements were becoming more urgent; he was groaning now with every thrust, and drops of sweat were falling from his brow. Mulder was approaching climax, too, but was not yet there when Krycek cried out and thrust into him, hard. Mulder held him tightly while he gasped for breath, face buried in Mulder's neck.   
"Don't you dare stop now," Mulder murmured.   
Krycek chuckled throatily into his ear. "Don't worry, Mulder, I won't leave you hanging." And, a few moments later, he gathered himself up and continued, with deep, hard, teeth-grittingly pleasurable strokes, until Mulder moaned and stiffened and his semen spurted out between them, wetting them both with the milky fluid. Krycek collapsed onto him, breathing hard, kissed him wetly on the cheek.   
Mulder stretched out his legs, reality already returning to dampen the pleasure. Krycek reached down to keep the condom on his softening cock as it slipped from Mulder's body, then stripped it off and tossed it into the trash in one smooth motion. He lay on his side beside Mulder, head propped up on his elbow. "Mulder?"   
Mulder looked away. "What?" _All right, even if it was the best sex I've ever had, it doesn't change anything. You're still an amoral little toad, and I'm still insane for doing this._   
Krycek fell onto his back. "Never mind." 

* * *

Presently, Krycek sat up, looked around for his tee-shirt. He turned back to Mulder, holding the shirt in his hand. "You know, Mulder, this is really sick."   
Mulder closed his eyes, not sure whether to laugh or cry. "I'm glad you realize that."   
"So what now?"   
"I don't know." Should he be glad this was settled, or sorry he'd allowed it to happen? "Are we even now?"   
"Even?" Krycek choked out an incredulous laugh. "I thought I was unforgivable."   
Mulder pushed himself up onto his elbows, shaking his head. "I don't mean about everything. I just meant... this."   
"The sex, you mean? Yeah, you fucked me, I fucked you, I guess we're even. I didn't know we were keeping score."   
Mulder sighed. How was it that everything he said and everything he did just made things worse? "Sorry. I just thought...."   
"Forget it." Krycek drew up one knee, and rested his chin on it. "So are we on for a little breaking and entering?"   
He seemed completely sober now. Steady and calm. Had the whole thing been another act? A game to get Mulder back in bed? Was Mulder ever going to know what went on in Krycek's head?   
"Yes. We're on." Scully would be outraged, if she knew. _We didn't straighten anything out. We just had sex again, and I'm more confused than ever. But I'm going through with it anyway._   
"All right. I'll check things out, see what I can set up. I'll let you know." He started to pull on his tee-shirt.   
Mulder put his hand on Krycek's arm. "Alex."   
"What?" Krycek's dead calm was unnerving.   
"Stay." He was headed for disaster again, Mulder knew, but he couldn't let Krycek walk away like this.   
"Why?"   
Mulder took the tee-shirt out of Krycek's hand and tossed it aside. "Just stay a while. Indulge me."   
Krycek stared at him. The mask of calm slowly fell away. Anger first, then bitterness and pain and hopeless longing filled his face. He closed his eyes, and blinked away tears. Then he slid into Mulder's arms, and they lay back down, Krycek half on top of Mulder, head pillowed on Mulder's shoulder.   
_He fits there,_ Mulder thought drowsily. _I never would have thought._   
An hour later, he woke, and Krycek was gone. 

* * *

"I talked to Krycek last night." Mulder sipped his coffee, willing his hand to be steady.   
Scully set her coffee cup down on the desk, and sat across from him. "And?"   
"I told him to go ahead. I don't think it's a trap."   
She took a deep breath, sipped her own coffee. "What makes you think so?"   
_Because, if it were a trap, he wouldn't have come to me drunk and thrown himself at me. He would have been cool and calm and full of reasonable explanations. He wouldn't have risked spooking me by making things even crazier than they already were. He wouldn't have fucked me._   
"He's scared. If it were a trap, he wouldn't be so scared."   
"Maybe he's too scared to be reliable."   
"I don't think so. He's got it under control. Scully, you really don't have to go along with this if you don't want to."   
"I'll come. I just want to make sure you know what you're doing. That you're not letting your need for the truth color your judgment."   
_Do I know what I'm doing?_ "If I really believed it was a trap, I wouldn't go."   
She nodded. "All right. I trust you."   
Mulder gripped his coffee cup tightly. _You shouldn't, Scully. But you always do, don't you?_ "He's going to let me know when he's ready." If Scully gets hurt this time I really will kill you, Krycek. But if Scully got hurt, whose fault would it really be? Krycek's—or Mulder's?   
_Bad idea, Mulder. Very bad idea._   
He felt as though he stood on the tracks watching a very big train barrelling towards him.   
And, like a deer caught in headlights, he could only stand and watch it come. 

* * *

Part Three: Shifting Sands   
Rated NC17 for explicit m/m sex.   
A DNA test sends Mulder on a quest to discover the truth about his sister, leading to a mysterious database and an old enemy. Follows "Anasazi."   
_The Best Lies_ is an amateur publication, and as such, is not meant to infringe upon the copyrights held by Fox TV, Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, or any other legally held copyrights in existence. All rights revert to the originators.   
Feedback: [email removed]   
---


	4. The Best Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A DNA test sends Mulder on a quest to discover the truth about his sister, leading to a mysterious database and an old enemy. Follows ""Anasazi.""

  
**The Best Lies**

Part Four: The Best Lies   
by Cody Nelson **REPORT ON THE DUANE BARRY INCIDENT**

First there was Duane Barry   
Who was abducted by aliens   
Or maybe he wasn't   
Maybe he was a brain-damaged psychopath 

But he abducted Scully   
He tracked her with the implant   
Or maybe he didn't   
Maybe they told him how to find her 

He took her to Skyland Mountain   
Where the aliens got her   
Or maybe they didn't   
Maybe it was government black ops military secret corporation Purity Control 

And then Duane Barry died   
Of asphyxiation   
Or maybe it wasn't   
Maybe they poisoned him (see possibilities above) 

That's my report and I'm sticking to it   
Every word is the truth   
And the truth is out there 

  
Mulder heaved a sigh of relief when he saw Krycek waiting at the rendezvous. He hadn't been quite sure that Krycek would really show up. Although, perhaps he should have been more relieved if he hadn't. He was insane to be doing this. But here they were, at four in the morning, on a side street in an Arlington neighborhood, getting ready to break into a highly secure, top-secret government installation with a completely untrustworthy rogue agent leading the way.   
Krycek looked them both over as they approached. Along with his usual black leather jacket, he was wearing a black tee-shirt and black jeans. _He looks like a poster boy for the SS,_ Mulder thought. Of course, he and Scully were also dressed in black—black sweat shirts and trousers—the usual uniform for surreptitious late-night explorations. Scully's hair was tied back in a ponytail. They carried their high-powered flashlights, their guns, their lockpicks, a satchel for whatever they might recover, and nothing else. Their FBI ID's would not help them here.   
"Is everything all right?" Mulder asked quietly. Although they were several blocks away from their target, Mulder still felt the need to speak in whispers.   
Krycek nodded. "There's a security guard, and surveillance cameras. I've already taken care of the guard." He held up a ring of keys, including the stubby, cylindrical key used to set a security box switch. "We'll take the tape from the surveillance cameras when we leave. The computers and other records are in the basement." He looked at his watch. "I have to be back there in less than ten minutes to check in at the security station. Then we'll have seventy-three minutes to do what we came to do and get out of there."   
"You 'took care of' the guard?" Scully said, a slightly horrified tone in her voice.   
Krycek grinned nastily. "He's sleeping off a dose of phenobarbital I slipped into his coffee thermos. He'll be fine. Sorry to disappoint you, Scully. I'm not a mindless killer."   
Scully pressed her lips together, and said nothing.   
"All right," Mulder interjected. "You said you've got less than ten minutes. We'd better get going."   
Krycek nodded, and they began to walk up the street. 

They entered the building through the front door, courtesy of the keys Krycek had stolen from the guard. The security station was just inside, on the far wall. Mulder and Scully checked around their surroundings while Krycek turned the key in the black box to reset the security timer. There wasn't much to see. It was a perfectly ordinary reception area in a perfectly ordinary industrial office building. The walls were painted sterile white, saved from being glaring by the subdued night lighting.   
"There are four other security stations, one on each floor," Krycek told them. "I'll show you where the files are, then I'll go set them." He grinned briefly. "I've been doing this since ten o'clock. I've got it down to less than fifteen minutes." He led them around a corner and down the hall, past the elevators, to a service stairway. One flight down, they emerged from the stairwell to another undistinguished hallway, this time painted sickly hospital green. There was one unmarked door. It was secured by a card key lock.   
Mulder looked at Krycek, who pulled a card key from his pocket with a smug smile, and handed it to Mulder with a flourish. "Go to it. I'll be back in fifteen minutes." Then he disappeared back up the stairs.   
Mulder looked at Scully, and took a deep breath. What would be on the other side of that door? The answer to all their questions, or an empty room? Was Krycek right now calling the police, leaving them to explain an unconscious security guard and their presence in this building?   
He slipped the card key into its slot. The tiny light over the slot glowed green, and he turned the door handle. He shone his flashlight inside.   
Across the back wall, banks of computers. Full-size mainframes, not PCs. On one side, printers and terminals and tall metal cabinets. On the other side, rows of file cabinets and a photocopier. In the middle of the room were several round tables with three or four chairs around each. Mulder stepped into the room, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "This is it, Scully. This is really it."   
"Maybe." Always the skeptic, Scully withheld judgment.   
Mulder smiled at that, too. "Well, let's find out." 

* * *

Scully went for the file cabinets. They were not locked; apparently, the room was considered secure enough that that was not necessary. Mulder took a chair and sat before one of the terminals. It was Unix, just like the smaller computer in the warehouse. He found the database file easily.   
"Scully, this file—"   
"Mulder, this is incredible—"   
They spoke simultaneously. They both stopped, stared at each other, then laughed. Scully inclined her head, indicating that Mulder should go first.   
"There were a thousand records in the database we found in that warehouse. This database has almost ten thousand records." He swallowed uneasily. "Ten thousand...."   
"Are they the same?"   
Mulder turned back to the terminal decisively. "There's no time. Let's just get as much as we can and get out of here. We can stop to read it later."   
She nodded, and pulled out a stack of papers to take to the copier.   
Mulder stopped, suddenly, and turned back to her. "Scully, what were you saying? What's incredible?"   
She held up the file jacket. "There's a file on you that goes back to your work in Violent Crimes. There are records of all your cases. And records we don't even have. Here are the reports on the sleep eradication experiments that were stolen from my office."   
He stood, went to look at the file she held, and nodded. "I'll bet there's a lot more than that. This is a gold mine, Scully. The Holy Grail." Then he went over to one of the tall cabinets, and rummaged through it until he found a datacassette. "Just keep copying."   
They both went back to work, in silence. Mulder put the tape in a tape drive and began copying the database. Meanwhile, he continued to search the system. His heart was pounding. This was it. This was everything he'd ever wanted—needed—to know, and more. Here was a file on cloning experiments. He added that to the list to be copied. Here, the results of branch DNA recombination. He had to have that, too. He wanted it all, but he knew it wasn't possible to copy everything in the time they had. Frantically, joyously he searched through the files, fingers flying over the keyboard, swearing under his breath when typos slowed him up, desperate to get as much as he could.   
So intent was he that he started right out of his chair when the door latch clicked and Krycek appeared in the doorway. In his excitement at finding all this information, he'd completely forgotten about Krycek. He caught himself reaching for his gun, and stopped with his hand on the holster at his belt.   
Flush with adrenaline, it took a few moments to register that Krycek was grey with fear, mouth working, unable to speak. Mulder stepped toward him.   
"What is it?"   
Krycek swallowed, and found his tongue. "We'd better get out of here."   
Scully, too, looked up from the photocopier and stared at Krycek. "Why? What happened?"   
Krycek's voice wobbled, drifting into a higher register as it did when he was panicked. "I went into the video room to check the surveillance tapes. I pulled one out of the deck to take a look at it. The... there's a computer in there, I didn't know, it must be connected to all the VCRs—when I took the tape out of the deck, it started a security program, requesting a password. I - I didn't know it. It tripped an alarm. I don't know how long we've got, but we've got to get out of here now. They could be here any minute."   
Scully had already started jamming papers into her satchel. "Come on, Mulder, get your tape and let's get out of here."   
Mulder stared at the tape, and at the computer terminal recording the progress of the copying operation. Not finished. _"No."_ Scully stared at him. Krycek stared at him. He continued, more quietly. "It's almost finished. Just another few minutes."   
"Mulder, we have to leave now." Scully spoke with quiet urgency.   
Krycek was less calm. "Mulder, forget the tape. If we get caught here... if I get caught here, I'm dead. I didn't start this to get killed for you."   
Mulder watched the terminal, counting off the bytes as they transferred to the tape. _I want it all. We'll never have another chance like this._ "Just a few minutes," he repeated. "Krycek, did you get the surveillance tapes?"   
"Yes. There's a bulk eraser. I wiped them all."   
"Do we need the keys to get out?"   
Krycek blinked. His fists opened and closed. "Yes. The front door is double-locked."   
"Block it open, then. And get out of here. You're in more danger than we are."   
"Mulder...."   
"Go, Krycek. You too, Scully. I'll come as soon as this tape finishes. I'll meet you at the car."   
"Mulder!" This time it was Scully. "I'm not leaving you here."   
Krycek stared. "All right. I'll block the door open. Good luck." Then he turned and ran up the stairs.   
"Mulder, come on. We have enough, let's go." Scully slung the satchel over her shoulder and walked over to the door.   
"It will be done in a minute."   
Gunshots. Two of them, from the floor above.   
_"Shit."_ Mulder yanked the tape from the drive, nodded once to Scully, and they both ran for the stairs.   
They paused at the top of the stairs, guns ready, and opened the door to the hallway slowly. Mulder nodded for Scully to go right, towards the main door, then burst through to the left, gun stretched out before him.   
Two men knelt at the end of the hallway, bent over a third—Krycek, lying in a crumpled heap against the wall, blood pooling on the floor in front of him. Mulder could not entirely define the emotions that rushed through him at the sight of Krycek bleeding on the floor. Horror. Sorrow. _Aching sweetness and tarnished innocence, now irrevocably lost._ Guilt, as always. And—was that relief? _He'll never show up at my door at two in the morning again._ Bitter satisfaction? _This is the path you chose._   
The moment ended in a split second. One of the men turned and stood. His gun came up, as his free hand touched the shoulder of his companion, still kneeling in front of Krycek. "He won't make it," said the kneeling man. Then he turned and saw Mulder, and slowly rose.   
Mulder was aware of Scully at his side, gun stretched out beside his, pointing at the men at the end of the hall. Two against two, neither had the clear advantage. Mulder and Scully were closer to the front door, but it was still locked—Krycek hadn't had a chance to get to it.   
"Just put your guns down and hand over that satchel," one of the men said. "No one else has to get hurt."   
Give up the data? No, Mulder had no intention of doing that. He'd been waiting too long, gone through too much. But how was he going to get out the front door?   
Scully's elbow touched his side. He didn't take his eyes off the men holding guns on them, but he softly said, "Mmm?"   
"Give me a diversion," she said, very quietly.   
He had no idea what she intended to do, but he promptly gave her the only diversion he could. He loosened his grip on his gun, and lifted his hands. "All right. But call an ambulance for him."   
"What are you worried about him for? He's a traitor. To you, and to us. Forget him."   
"Call an ambulance. Now. You don't get anything from us until you do."   
The man grimaced at him, then gestured to his companion. The other man lowered his gun and reached into his jacket pocket for a cellular phone. Beside him, Scully also lowered her gun.   
"Put your guns on the floor and kick them over here," the man ordered. His own gun had never wavered.   
"Not until he finishes his phone call," Mulder said, still holding his gun out loosely. The man with the phone punched the dialpad three times, and spoke briefly. Scully started to bend down to place her gun on the floor—then, suddenly, she cried out and crumpled to the floor.   
"Scully!" Mulder turned to help her. Saw her settle into a steady crouch. Saw her left hand swipe out and snatch a heavy ring of keys from the floor. Krycek must have dropped them here when he knew that he was trapped—a last-ditch attempt to give them a chance to escape.   
"No!" he screamed. "What have you done to her?" Then he whirled, firing off a shot in the general direction of the man with the gun, grabbed a handful of Scully's sweatshirt, and took off down the hallway toward the front door.   
The two men were caught by surprise; their answering fire didn't come until Mulder and Scully were nearly at the end of the hall. The FBI agents flew around the corner, gunfire ringing in their ears. Mulder shoved Scully towards the door, then positioned himself to fire an occasional shot down the hallway, pinning their adversaries down just beyond another turn in the hallway.   
"All right, I've got it!" Scully called out. Mulder fired one last round, then ran for the door.   
Once outside, they took off for the small maze of buildings that made up the rest of the complex. They were relatively safe here, they'd managed to get to cover before the men could get out where they could spot them, but they didn't relax their vigilance or stop running until they'd reached their car and were safely headed back to Washington.   
"We did it, Scully!" Mulder exulted. "We got the bastards. I only wish we'd had more time."   
"Yes." Scully stared out the window.   
"Scully? What is it?"   
"We didn't exactly get away clean."   
Krycek. He'd be dead soon, if he wasn't already. Even if his wounds weren't fatal, the Smoking Man would not let him survive this. "There was nothing we could have done for him."   
"I know." She continued to stare blankly. "It looks like he was telling the truth."   
"Yes. I guess he was." It was a concept that Mulder didn't like to think about. Krycek told the truth. It forced one to wonder what else he might have been telling the truth about. "He knew what he was doing. We didn't force him to do anything." Young and naive. A step taken in error. And once that step had been taken, how many choices did he really have?   
"I know. I'm just not ready to celebrate victory yet, that's all."   
Mulder stared at the road ahead, and frowned. He didn't want Krycek to spoil this moment for him. Krycek had made his own decisions. And paid for his own mistakes. Was Mulder going to have to feel sorry about him now? Was Krycek going to haunt him, just as he'd threatened to do?   
Forget Krycek—Mulder had the answers now. He had the evidence. The truth. That was what mattered. Add one more ghost to the ghosts that already haunted him—that was the price he had to pay. 

* * *

It was late, and they were both tired. But Mulder could not rest until he found out one thing—were the records in this database the same as the database from the warehouse? Was Scully Samantha? If she was, she was—they would find a way to deal with it. But he wanted to know.   
He drove to the J. Edgar Hoover Building. Scully had protested briefly—it was late, and she just wanted to go home. They'd be back at work in a few hours, anyway. They'd waited this long, couldn't they wait just a little longer? Mulder's answer to each argument had been the same. I want to know now. Scully sighed and acquiesced. She didn't have much choice. 

* * *

With trembling fingers, Mulder typed in the search command. With ten thousand records to search, the process took fractionally longer than it had for the smaller database. Those microseconds seemed an eternity to Mulder. Then the response:   
`1560*: Not found.`

Mulder felt a little dizzy. "Scully, that was Samantha's record. It's not there." He typed in another command. This time, the response was almost immediate. 

`Subj. 1560. Mulder, Samantha. 1965. High IQ, psi. Unmarried. Samples taken, 1994. Note: Do Not Kill order registered, 1993. To be crossed with 1559. Removed from home 1973.`

"That was supposed to have been your record, in the other database. It's really Samantha's. It doesn't say...." Mulder swallowed, his eyes stinging. "It doesn't say where they took her. Or what they did with her." Hurriedly, he typed another command. "It must be in here somewhere."   
"Mulder." Scully laid a hand on his shoulder. "We found what we came for. I'm not Samantha. Let's go home now."   
Mulder ignored her, continued to type frenzied commands.   
"It will take days to go through all of this. Let it go for now."   
Still no response. She leaned over him and switched off the terminal. He glared at her.   
"Mulder, we have just enough time to go home and change and come back to work. I don't know about you, but I don't want to still be here in my dirty sweatshirt when Skinner comes in."   
He swallowed, and rubbed his face with one hand. "You're right. We need to go home and get cleaned up." Reluctantly, he pulled the tape from the drive. "I don't want to leave this here. It won't be safe at either of our places, either." He turned the tape over in his hands. "I'll take it somewhere safe. Give me the satchel."   
She handed him the satchel of papers, and he tucked the tape into it. "All right, Scully. It's been a long night. But we found out what we needed to know. You might be my sister, but you're not Samantha."   
She nodded. "I suppose...." She paused, sighing. "I suppose we'd better settle that once and for all, too. Call Langly and tell him to get ready to take another sample."   
Mulder agreed. It was time to end it. 

* * *

It was several hours later when he finally returned home. After dropping Scully off, he'd gone to find a safe place to leave the satchel. It was not easy to decide on a location that satisfied his paranoia. Finally, he'd just left it in a locker at the Greyhound station. That would only be good for twenty-four hours, but it would give him time to think of a better solution. He was just too tired now to think, too drained.   
He trudged up the front steps of his apartment building wearily. This should be his day of triumph. He had an entire satchel full of evidence against his enemies, he had proof that the database in the warehouse had been a setup, that Scully was truly just Scully. He might be able to find out more about what had happened to Samantha. He was just tired, that was all. That was why the image of Krycek lying in a pool of blood kept intruding on his thoughts. It wasn't his fault. Maybe he'd just call in sick, stay home and try to get some sleep.   
The moment he opened the door to his apartment, the smell of cigarette smoke hit him. He froze, pulled out his gun, entered cautiously. There was only one person it could be, and he wasn't here to kill Mulder, he was here to retrieve his files. Nevertheless, Mulder kept his gun on the figure sitting in the easy chair, smoke rising in lazy tendrils around him, forming a haze in the early morning light of Mulder's apartment.   
Mulder stood before the Smoking Man. "I know what you want. You can't have it."   
The man leaned forward to stub out the barely-smoked cigarette in an ashtray on Mulder's coffee table. He'd gotten it from the back of Mulder's kitchen cupboard, apparently—Mulder kept it for his father. Had kept it. It was already full of partially-smoked Morleys. The man spoke calmly, as always. "Please sit down, Mr. Mulder. We have some business to discuss."   
"What business? You want the files back. I'm not going to give them to you. You might as well just go home now."   
"I don't expect you to give them to me. But I thought perhaps we might be able to make a trade."   
"A trade?" Mulder sat heavily on the couch, gun cradled in his lap. "What could you possibly have that I'd trade for?"   
"Perhaps nothing. Perhaps a human life no longer means more to you than exposing what you call the truth."   
"What are you talking about?" Mulder's tired mind refused to settle around the man's smooth, almost soothing words. As elusive as the drifting smoke from the cigarette always in his hand.   
The man withdrew another Morley from his pack, lit it with a silver cigarette lighter. "I'm proposing to trade the information you stole from us for Mr. Krycek's life."   
_No._   
"He's alive?"   
"Yes, he's alive. He was shot in the temple, a glancing wound. He lost a lot of blood, but the bullet did no permanent damage. It seems you saved his life, Mr. Mulder, when you insisted that an ambulance be called right away."   
"They did get him an ambulance, then."   
"The paramedics found him unconscious on the sidewalk. He's in the hospital now, being treated for blood loss and shock. My men are keeping an eye on him. He should recover, but these things are always uncertain. He might still expire from his injuries."   
"If I don't give you back the files, you mean." No. No, he could not give up the evidence after fighting so long, so hard to get it. And he especially could not give it up for Alex Goddamned Krycek!   
"In that case, yes, I'm afraid his prognosis is not good."   
"What makes you think I'd do anything to save Krycek?" _I've been this close to killing him myself. He betrayed me, he betrayed you, he's got no integrity at all. Why should I lift a finger to keep him alive?_   
"Perhaps you wouldn't. The result would be unfortunate for us both. And particularly unfortunate for Mr. Krycek. But since he was the one who led you to my private files, I thought you might feel some responsibility for him. He's of no further use to me."   
It was true, Krycek had broken into that building for Mulder, knowing his life would be forfeit if he was caught. And left the keys in the hall for Mulder and Scully, giving up his own slim chance of escape. Hadn't he finally redeemed himself for the wrong he'd done? "Then he walks away free. You promise never to touch him again." God, was he really going to do this? His throat constricted horribly. To have everything for a few short hours, just to have it taken away again—it was almost more than he could bear.   
"Of course. And you return everything, without making copies of any of it, and promise never to try to use any of it again."   
"Unless I happen to come across it again, some other way."   
"Unless Mr. Krycek interferes with us again."   
Mulder sat there, jaw clenched against the words of agreement that burned in his throat. It would be so easy to just say no. Leave Krycek to his fate, keep the data he needed so desperately. He was not responsible for Krycek's mistakes. He hadn't shot him. Krycek had chosen to be a player, and these were the rules of the game he played.   
And what about the game Mulder played? The search for the truth—had he now reached the point where he was willing to kill for it? Not in self defense, not to protect Scully, not even in revenge for damage done, but just to hold onto a satchel of paper and computer files? Was it worth a life, anyone's life, to hold the hard truth in his hands? If it was, then Mulder was just a younger version of the Smoking Man himself, on his way down the same path. Just another self-righteous crusader, willing to crush anyone who got in the way of his cause.   
Mulder sighed. He'd lost again. "All right. Where and when?"   
The man took one more drag on his cigarette, then again leaned forward to inter it with the others in the ashtray. "Tonight. I'll notify you of the exact time and place." He stood, and walked out, leaving a tiny plume of smoke rising from the last cigarette butt in the ashtray.   
Mulder sat and stared at it until the smoke dissipated into the hazy air. 

* * *

"Scully, we have to give the data back." Mulder had finally shown up for work late, tired, unshaven, and angry.   
"What? What happened?" Scully looked up from her terminal, her oval computer glasses hiding the dark circles from her own mostly sleepless night.   
_"He_ was at my place when I got there this morning. The Cancer Man." He stopped, balling his fists, teeth clenched, overwhelmed by his fury. He had to take several deep breaths before he could continue. "Krycek's alive. He stays that way only if I give back the data."   
Mulder walked over to his desk, kicking the file cabinet along the way, and threw himself into his chair. He leaned his elbows on the desk, put his face in his hands. "Damn it, Scully! I don't know what to do. Is that little shit really worth giving up everything we found last night?"   
"Mulder, are you serious?"   
He looked up, and met her calm blue eyes. Found her frowning at him. "What do you mean?" Was she angry with him for making the trade?   
She shook her head, exasperated. "I mean, of course he's worth it! He's a human being, Mulder, despite anything he's done. You don't kill people to get what you want."   
He felt a little foolish. "Sorry, Scully. I know you're right. It's just... it's Krycek, for god's sake, and... I wanted this so badly."   
"I know," she said softly. "But you're doing the right thing."   
Somehow, it made it easier, hearing her say that. 

* * *

The address specified by the Smoking Man was that of the warehouse where Mulder had first found the database—his little joke, Mulder thought, as well as a relatively deserted area for the exchange. The time was midnight. Mulder had spent most of the day poring over the reports, memorizing as much as he could. Some of the most damning papers he copied, planning to hide them away, in case something might happen someday that would allow him to use them. He also copied the datatape. He would not give that up; he needed it for his own peace of mind. He could have used days, weeks to go over all the information - it was horribly frustrating to have just these few hours. But finally the time had arrived, and he stuffed everything back into the satchel, and headed for the meeting place.   
He pulled up behind a battered van—the same limping van he'd spotted in front of the warehouse when he'd found Krycek there. Very good cover for a neighborhood like this. It looked like it had been abandoned there for weeks. The side door of the van opened as Mulder got out of his own car. A man stepped out of the van, then helped another man to emerge. Krycek.   
He would be calm. He would not rage in frustration. He would hand over the bag, get Krycek, and get out of there. He repeated the self-instructions under his breath as he walked up to the van.   
Even in the dim street lights, Krycek was horribly pale. There was a thick bandage taped to his right temple. He wobbled slightly as he stood there. The other man held him steady at arm's length.   
"Have you got it?" the other man asked.   
Mulder spared him a glance. "Here." He held out the satchel. Uncontrollably, his hand shook as the other man took it from him. He clenched his jaw sharply.   
"Are you all right?" he asked Krycek, through gritted teeth.   
Krycek nodded.   
"All right. Let's go." He took Krycek's arm and began to walk back to his car. He was walking faster than Krycek could comfortably follow, and he knew it. It was all he could do not to hit Krycek in the face. _I gave it all up for you! You don't deserve it._   
"Mulder, I...."   
He whirled on Krycek, grabbed a fistful of Krycek's shirt. "Shut up!"   
Krycek cringed. His knees nearly gave way. Mulder had to hold him up.   
Mulder bit the inside of his cheek, and forced his fist to unclench. "Just shut up, Krycek. I saved your worthless life, I don't have to be happy about it, and I don't have to listen to you. So just shut up."   
Krycek swallowed, nodded slightly. Mulder hauled him roughly to the car, practically threw him into the front seat. As he walked around the car to the driver's side, he berated himself. _Real nice, Mulder. The guy's got a gunshot wound in the head, he nearly died this morning, and you're pushing him around like a schoolyard bully._ He got in the car, and sat for a moment gripping the steering wheel before he started the car and drove away. Krycek remained huddled against the other side of the car, saying nothing.   
They drove a while in grim silence. Mulder tried to calm down. _It's the Cancer Man you're really mad at, not Krycek. He's the one who forced you to give back the data. Krycek's the one who got it for you in the first place._ But the anger churned inside him. He couldn't bring himself to even look at the man shrinking away from him on the other side of the car.   
Until he realized that he was headed home, and taking Krycek with him. Which he did not want to do. Especially not considering what had happened every other time Krycek had come to his apartment. "Where do you want me to take you?" He tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. It came out a dull monotone.   
"I... home, I guess." Krycek pulled himself up in his seat.   
"You should probably go to a hospital."   
"No, I'm all right. I just want to go home."   
"Where's home?"   
Krycek hesitated for a moment, then choked out a rueful laugh, and named an address—not fifteen blocks from Mulder's apartment.   
"I don't believe it. We're practically neighbors." He jogged within three blocks of Krycek's apartment every morning.   
"They wanted me to be... close...." Krycek's voice trailed off. "Mulder, I... I'm sorry you had to do this."   
"Forget it. Not your fault." He tried to make himself believe it.   
"Mulder...." Krycek shifted in his seat, emitting small noises of pain. His voice was ragged, and dropped to that nearly inaudible tone. "I'm sorry... about everything."   
Excuses, justifications, rationalizations—Krycek had them all, but never once had he said he was sorry for anything he'd done. _Too little, too late,_ Mulder thought. Far too much had happened for a simple apology to mean anything. Still, something unknotted inside him. Something that had wanted Krycek, just once, to acknowledge the pain he'd caused. Something that, maybe, was looking for an excuse to give up his hate.   
"It's all right," he said softly. And, to his own disbelief, it was all right.   
Krycek sighed heavily, and rubbed the corners of his eyes. "I'm tired."   
"You'll be home soon."   
"Yeah." Then he settled back in his seat, and fell asleep. 

* * *

When they reached Krycek's building, Mulder helped him from the car and held his arm as they walked up the front steps of his building. He watched as Krycek fumbled in his jeans pocket for his keys, then dropped them on the landing. Krycek started to bend down to get them, stopped with a gurgling cry of pain and a hand pressed to his head. Mulder put his hand on Krycek's arm to stop him from trying again, then reached down himself to pick them up.   
"I should have taken you to a hospital." Mulder handed him the keys.   
"I'm all right, Mulder." Krycek spoke wearily. His hands trembled as he fumbled with the keys.   
When he'd found the front door key, Mulder took the keyring from him and unlocked the door. "No you're not. I'll walk you up. Which apartment?"   
Krycek's apartment was small studio on the fifth floor, with a sleeping alcove. There was a sofa that looked like it came from a thrift store; a cheap computer desk with a PC on it; some mismatched shelving holding a stereo that looked to have cost more than all the rest of the furnishings combined; and a television sitting in the floor across from the sofa. There was a double bed in the sleeping alcove—unmade—and a wardrobe with one door missing.   
Krycek shrugged out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor, and stumbled into the sleeping alcove. Mulder switched on the desk lamp and followed. Krycek was sitting on the bed, wincing, as he tried to get his tee-shirt off. Mulder sat beside him, helped to pull the tee-shirt over his head. He inspected the bandage on Krycek's temple. It seemed all right, as far as he could tell.   
"I should have Scully come and take a look at you."   
"Christ, Mulder. Why didn't you just invite her over to watch us having sex?" Krycek snapped.   
Mulder just stared. Under Mulder's steady gaze, Krycek's glare slowly faded. He swallowed and dropped his eyes. "Sorry. I'm just tired."   
"It's all right." Well, had he thought that Krycek's attraction would disappear because he'd forgiven him? And here he sat on Krycek's bed, helping him to undress. "Krycek...."   
"We're not going to have sex any more, are we?"   
"No."   
Krycek forced a weak smile. "Might be nice, just once, to see what it's like when we don't hate each other."   
Mulder smiled back. "Don't push your luck."   
Krycek's smile faded. He worked clumsily at the buttons of his jeans. "Will you help me get my pants off, anyway? I couldn't put any moves on you right now if I tried, so you'll be safe."   
Krycek was pasty-faced and sweating. He looked like he was about to cry. Mulder touched his arm briefly, then slid down into the floor, and began untying Krycek's shoes. "I want you to go see a doctor tomorrow."   
"Yeah," Krycek agreed tiredly.   
Mulder finished removing Krycek's shoes, then urged him onto his back, lifting his legs up onto the bed, and began unbuttoning his jeans. "Do you want your shorts off, too?"   
"Yeah."   
Mulder began to work Krycek's pants down over his hips. Krycek was hard. A glance at his face showed him staring resolutely at the wall, biting his lip. One hand lay on his stomach; the other rested protectively on the bandage. His body was covered with a sheen of sweat. Mulder paused, and cast about for something to say to relieve the tension. "So. What do you think you'll do now?"   
Krycek cleared his throat. His voice broke only slightly as he spoke. "I don't know. I don't suppose... I could get back in the FBI."   
Krycek back in the FBI? What a frightening thought. Give him his due, though, he'd been a good agent. And— _keep your friends close, and your enemies closer...._ Mulder didn't know which Krycek was any more, but in any case, it wouldn't hurt to have the man around where he could keep an eye on him. "The only report against you is mine, and there's no proof of anything. If I withdrew my report—there'd only be the matter of your sudden disappearance to explain. I suppose it could be done."   
"Would you do that, Mulder? Withdraw your report?"   
Mulder finished pulling Krycek's pants off. _It's nothing I haven't seen before,_ he told himself. "I don't know. I'll have to think about it." He pulled the covers up over him. "Where's your phone?"   
Krycek was already half asleep. "I don't know. On the desk, I guess."   
Mulder went to find the phone, which turned out to be on the floor in front of the sofa. He brought the cellular back to the sleeping alcove and set it on the nightstand. "Alex, here's your phone." Krycek's eyes kept drifting closed. "Call me if you need anything. Make sure you see a doctor."   
Krycek managed a nod. "Mulder, thank you. For... you know."   
Mulder heaved a deep sigh. "It's all right. Go to sleep now." _You're still going to haunt me, aren't you? Well, better a live ghost than a dead one._ He sighed again, then turned to go home. 

* * *

The phone call Mulder had been expecting came at two in the afternoon. He and Scully were just getting back from lunch. He pulled the cellular from his pocket and hurriedly punched the button. "Langly?"   
"Yeah, Mulder."   
"So, what's the word?" Mulder tried to sound calm. Scully froze in the doorway. Mulder remembered the way she had stood, grimacing slightly, while Langly slid the needle into her arm. Then she'd laughed sheepishly at the professional ease with which he drew her blood. When asked how he'd learned to do it, Langly had replied, _I don't let anyone stick needles into me. I always do it myself._ It was not necessarily a reassuring answer.   
Langly said, "Mulder, I don't know whose blood that was on that handkerchief, but it wasn't Scully's. Her profile is entirely different. And she's not your sister."   
Mulder grinned, and gave Scully a thumbs up. She nodded, sagging against the doorjamb in relief.   
"Thanks, Langly. You have just won a free one-year subscription to Adult Video News."   
"Which issue is the one with your picture in it, Mulder?" 

* * *

Mulder put the DNA profiles he'd gotten from Langly and the datacassette from Krycek into the file box with the copies he'd kept from the Smoking Man's private files. It would all go someplace safe, until he might need it again. For now, the case was closed. Scully was not Samantha; she was not his sister. Krycek was no longer his enemy. He had information he wanted but could not use. Some losses, some gains. And the search for the truth went on. It was an increasingly tricky and dangerous maze to negotiate. The closer he got to the center, the better the lies. And the best lies were closest to the truth....   
Scully's name was not in the alien breeding program database. But Samantha's was.   
And so was his. 

* * *

Rated NC17 for explicit m/m sex.   
A DNA test sends Mulder on a quest to discover the truth about his sister, leading to a mysterious database and an old enemy. Follows "Anasazi."   
_The Best Lies_ is an amateur publication, and as such, is not meant to infringe upon the copyrights held by Fox TV, Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, or any other legally held copyrights in existence. All rights revert to the originators.   
Feedback: [email removed]   
---


	5. A Perfect Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A DNA test sends Mulder on a quest to discover the truth about his sister, leading to a mysterious database and an old enemy. Follows ""Anasazi.""

**The Best Lies: Book Two**

A Perfect Life   
by Cody Nelson 

  
Alex Krycek paused outside the door to Mulder's basement office, his hand trembling slightly on the doorknob. He hadn't seen Mulder since that night five weeks ago, when Mulder had ransomed him from the Smoking Man. He'd called Mulder a few times, but their conversations had been strained and brief. It seemed obvious enough that Mulder wanted nothing more to do with him. He hadn't pursued it—he'd had enough on his plate, trying to convince the Bureau's paper-pushers to let him back in the FBI. The last thing he needed at the time was to get caught up again in the emotional shredder that was his relationship with Fox Mulder.   
But now he was back, officially reinstated in the FBI. It had taken some pretty serious explaining, groveling, and string-pulling to get him back into his job. Amazingly enough, his ex-boss had helped. Five weeks ago, the man had almost had Krycek killed for leading Mulder to his secrets. But he didn't hold grudges. It seemed to amuse him to use his influence to induce the Bureau to take Krycek back. Perhaps the Smoking Man thought he'd be able to call in the favor some day—not that Krycek would ever consider working for him again.   
Krycek pulled out his badge and looked at it again. His breath caught at the sight of the eagle and blind justice on the shield. All his life he'd wanted this. When he'd had to flee rather than face a lie-detector test after Duane Barry's death, he'd thought he'd lost it forever. He was unbelievably happy to have it back. And he wanted desperately to tell someone who'd know just how much it meant to him. Strangely enough, Fox Mulder was the only person he could think of. Surely Mulder couldn't object if Krycek just stopped in to thank him for his help. He'd never have made it if Mulder hadn't been willing to withdraw the report he'd made against Krycek, even with the Smoking Man's behind-the-scenes finagling. He took a deep breath and stepped through the door.   
Mulder was seated at his desk, and Scully stood by the filing cabinet. They both stopped what they were doing and stared at him in cold silence. He forced a tight smile onto his face and held up his FBI ID.   
"I'm ba-ack...." It was a very feeble attempt at a joke, and it fell quite flat. Krycek stood frozen, wondering if he should just turn tail and run.   
Then, finally, Mulder leaned back in his chair and smiled faintly. "Congratulations."   
Scully's lips also twitched in a brief smile. "Yes. Congratulations."   
Krycek shifted nervously. "Skinner said you recommended me. Thanks. I... I'm really grateful."   
Mulder shrugged. "I just told him the truth. I couldn't prove anything in the report, so I withdrew it."   
"Well... Skinner made it sound like it was more than that. But I guess you don't want it to get around that you helped me. I understand." Without thinking, he reached up and ran a hand over his hair. It was a nervous habit he'd tried to break himself of many times, but it always came back under stress. His hair was short again, FBI conservative, and felt strange under his hand.   
Mulder chewed his lower lip, as uncomfortable as his visitor. "It's just... I didn't do that much."   
"Well, I just wanted let you know." He gestured with the badge again. "And to thank you. And you too, Scully." He might as well instigate a little good will with Scully, if he could. He certainly wasn't getting any from Mulder.   
"I didn't really do anything. But you're welcome anyway." Her smile was slightly less frozen than Mulder's.   
"So. I guess I'll see you later, maybe...." Krycek turned and fumbled for the doorknob.   
"Krycek." Mulder's voice stopped him. He turned back, hand still on the doorknob. Mulder cleared his throat before continuing. "I'll take you to lunch. To celebrate."   
Krycek tried not to let his smile grow too broad. Mulder taking him out to lunch? He didn't quite trust it. "Great."   
Mulder stood, pulling his suit coat from the back of his chair. "Scully, you coming?"   
Krycek's smile went cold. It figured. Mulder was probably never going to want to be alone with him again. But it didn't do to be unfriendly to Scully. That would be the quickest way to turn Mulder off. "Yeah, Scully. Come with us."   
A slight smile quirked at the corners of her mouth. "No, you go ahead. I've got some work I want to finish up."   
Krycek thanked her silently. Mulder shot her a look, which she blithely ignored. Then he forced a smile, and ushered Krycek out of the office. 

* * *

Given free rein to choose any restaurant he wanted, Krycek nearly panicked and asked to go to McDonald's. He didn't know what Mulder liked, or how much Mulder was willing to spend on this little "celebration." He felt like he was walking a mine field. There were too many ways to make mistakes with Mulder. Too many ways to break this brittle truce between them.   
But it was just lunch, damn it. "Do you like Japanese?" His voice was at least half an octave above normal. He cleared his throat, and swore at himself under his breath.   
"Sure. I know a good place."   
It just happened to be Krycek's favorite restaurant. He crossed his fingers that this was going to be a good omen.   
Over green tea, Krycek tried to relax a little. "I start on Monday. Check fraud. We have a man under surveillance."   
"Wiretap, huh?" Mulder's smile looked pasted on. His voice was a little too hearty.   
_Nervous as a couple of kids on their first date._ At least he didn't feel so bad, if Mulder was going to be nervous too. "Yeah, I know, it's the Bureau's equivalent of 'drop and give me twenty.' I don't care. I'm just glad to be back. I'd scrub the floors if that's what it took."   
"Well, my office floor could use scrubbing."   
"Too late, I got my badge now. You should have taken advantage while I was sweating it out."   
"You mean I could have held my recommendation for ransom?"   
"You could have had a lot more than your floors scrubbed."   
Mulder's face turned pink at the innuendo, and he covered his discomfort with a sip of tea. Swearing inwardly, Krycek hurried to change the subject. "So what are you working on these days?"   
"Nothing special."   
The silence lengthened. Krycek was reminded of a line in a movie. Having nothing better to say, he quoted, "'Don't you hate uncomfortable silences?'"   
It was not a very specific quote. But Mulder's face lit up. _"Pulp Fiction._ I loved that movie."   
Finally, something they could talk about. "Isn't Tarantino great? I loved that scene with the adrenaline hypo...." 

Gradually, Krycek's grip on his teacup loosened. He was actually sitting here chatting with Mulder. And it was actually pleasant. They carefully avoided any reference to work or to their explosive past history, which put a slight cramp in the conversation, but he could live with that. Just once, let them get through a meeting without any accusations or recriminations flying. By the time the miso soup arrived, Krycek's jaw had stopped aching and his voice returned to normal.   
They managed to get through the entire meal talking inconsequentially about cop movies and cosmic strings and who was going to win the Series. Over a final cup of tea, Krycek made a stab at paying half the check, and got his hand slapped. He settled back in his chair, biting his lip and trying not to feel like he was on a date.   
"Thanks, Mulder. I really appreciate it. I hate to admit it, but I'm broke. This may be the last meal I have till I get my first paycheck."   
"What, didn't he pay you?" Mulder stopped suddenly, features frozen in the realization that he'd crossed the unspoken line.   
_Oh damn. We were doing so well. Come on, think of something fast._ Krycek put on a grin. "The pay was great, but the benefits sucked. No health plan." He reached up to trace the path of the still-fresh, inch-long scar that ran into the hairline at his right temple.   
Krycek loved the way that slow smile spread across Mulder's face. Like something unexpected and nice had happened. For once, that smile was for him.   
Mulder nodded. "Is that why you didn't want to go back to the hospital?"   
"Nah. I just didn't like the nurses."   
Mulder counted out bills to pay the check, and stood. "I've got to get back to work. Are you going back?"   
"No, I'm done for today. It's just paperwork until Monday. I think I'm just going to go home. Clean my apartment."   
"I'll drive you."   
Mulder's continuing generosity was beginning to unnerve him. _There's got to be a catch._ But he was going to take it anyway. "Thanks." 

* * *

Mulder had only been to Krycek's apartment once, but with his photographic memory, he didn't need to be told again how to get there. They were mostly silent during the drive. Krycek sat back in his seat and smiled to himself. It had been a very pleasant lunch. Now that the ice was broken, maybe there would be more such lunches. Krycek didn't have any illusions that there was ever going to be anything more between him and Mulder than a casual friendship. The occasional lunch or dinner. Possibly a movie or a baseball game. He'd already had sex with Mulder twice—that was twice more than he'd ever thought would happen. He didn't expect it to happen again. He wasn't sure he even wanted it to. Well, okay, of course he wanted it to—but he knew he'd be better off if it didn't. He finally had his job back after months of being trapped in the covert nightmare he'd stupidly stumbled into—but he had it on sufferance and at the first little mistake he'd be out on his ear. He didn't need any angst-ridden affairs with Fox Mulder to confuse things. He just wanted to be able to spend a little uncomplicated time with the man every once in a while. He wanted to know that past mistakes were forgiven, and that Mulder didn't hate him any more.   
They pulled up in front of Krycek's apartment building. Krycek turned to Mulder, smiling, ready to say thanks for the meal and see you later. But the expression on Mulder's face made the words dry up in his throat.   
Mulder was looking at him intently, eyes liquid, leaning forward slightly. Krycek's breath caught. Suddenly, all bets were off.   
Then Mulder reached out his hand, and touched the side of Krycek's face. Just three fingertips brushed lightly against the skin. With his thumb, Mulder stroked the scar that creased Krycek's temple.   
"It was close," Mulder said quietly.   
Krycek had to swallow several times before he could speak. "You saved my life."   
"You know what that means, don't you?"   
"It means my life belongs to you." _As if it ever didn't._   
Mulder's palm flattened against Krycek's cheek, and fingers slid into his hair. "That's right. You belong to me."   
"Mulder...." God, why did he have to be doing this in the car? On a public street, where anybody could see them?   
"I've lost too many people, Krycek. I lost my sister. My father. I lost Scully for a while, but I got her back." Mulder stroked the other man's cheek, then ran his thumb over the lower lip. Krycek's eyes closed, and his lips parted.   
Mulder continued to speak softly. "I don't want lose any more people. If you're back, you stay back."   
Krycek licked Mulder's thumb, then closed his mouth around it. Mulder's eyelids fluttered as Krycek's lips and tongue worked on his thumb.   
"You don't do this to me again. You're mine now." Mulder's voice was a husky whisper. Then he withdrew his hand, pulling his thumb slowly from Krycek's mouth.   
Krycek took a deep breath. "Okay, Mulder."   
Mulder smiled. Then, not taking his eyes off the other man's, he slid his thumb, still wet from Krycek's tongue, into his own mouth. He sucked on it for a moment before withdrawing it. "Good. I'll see you, Alex."   
Mulder turned around and put his hands on the steering wheel. Krycek swallowed hard, fumbled for the doorknob, and clumsily got out of the car. He stood on shaky knees and watched the car pull away. 

* * *

There were forms to fill out and interviews to endure. Loose ends to be cleaned up, before he actually started his first assignment. Krycek was kept sufficiently busy that he managed to put the strange encounter with Mulder out of his mind. Most of the time. Late at night he lay in his bed and wondered what that little episode had been all about. _He doesn't care. He's just using my attraction to keep me in line._ Still, he went ahead and put his thumb in his mouth right after I'd been sucking on it.... _Damn you, Mulder. You're just trying to make me crazy._ And succeeding. 

* * *

The listening post was a third-floor walkup in a marginal part of town, down the hall and one floor below the apartment being bugged. His subject was suspected of running a counterfeit payroll check scheme, which had already defrauded banks in New York and New Jersey, and was now setting up shop in D.C. The man, Darin McCarthy, had frequent late-night meetings in his living room. Krycek pulled the six A.M.-to-noon shift—the shift during which anything of interest was least likely to happen. It was six hours of subject sleeping, with the occasional trip to the bathroom to liven things up. _Yes, this is what I live for. This is what I dedicated my life to. Sitting in a room for six hours listening to paint peel._ After four days, he was beginning to think that doing grunt work for a man with no name wasn't such a bad job after all.   
On the fifth day, the midnight-to-six agent, Ross, slapped him on the arm as he left, saying, "Hey, Squirt—this may be your lucky day. There's a meeting scheduled for seven A.M. Stay awake."   
"Yeah, right." Squirt. It was one of the less offensive new nicknames he'd acquired since his return to the Bureau. The FBI was the worst bunch of gossips he'd ever seen. He was sure that, by now, every agent from Miami to Seattle knew all about his little disappearing act and five-week grovel to get back in the Bureau. Some of the names were used only behind his back—but he heard them. He was almost nostalgic for "Skippy." At least no one called him "Spooky Junior" any more.   
Anyway, he didn't care what they called him. There was only one FBI agent whose opinion mattered to him—and he'd already done a pretty good job of making that one hate him. So to hell with the rest of them.   
There was a coffeemaker with a few cups' worth of coffee left in it on the counter by the sink. Krycek found a mug that didn't look too dirty, rinsed it out, and poured a cup. He sipped it and grimaced. It had been sitting on the burner for hours. Damn Ross. Krycek always made a fresh pot for the next shift before he left at noon. He emptied the carafe into the sink and started another pot brewing. Then he settled into the chair and put the headphones on.   
He could hear his subject, McCarthy, moving around in the apartment, muttering under his breath. McCarthy seemed to be alone in there now. If Ross was right, there would be others arriving at seven. There was still almost an hour to go.   
Krycek yawned and leaned back in his chair and prepared to wait. 

* * *

Promptly at seven, there was a knock on McCarthy's door. Krycek sat up, turned over the page of the legal pad he'd been doodling on, and listened.   
McCarthy opened the door, and his guest entered. Krycek made notes on his pad.   
"Morris. Good to see you."   
"Never expected to see you at this hour."   
Laughter. A pause. Sounds of someone walking around.   
"Morris, what are you doing?" The tone was amused.   
"I was in New York yesterday. O'Donnell got whacked. I'm still a little spooked."   
_Hmm. A murder? This might be interesting. It's not check fraud, but...._   
"O'Donnell? What happened?"   
"It was the weirdest thing, man. He just dropped dead. But right before he did, people said they heard this noise, a scream or something, so loud the windows rattled. And then, poof, he was dead."   
_Mysterious scream? No cause of death? Sounds like an X-File._ He wondered if Mulder knew about it.   
"Pretty spooky, man."   
_Spooky, indeed!_   
Suddenly, McCarthy shouted, "Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?" Then both men were shouting. Chairs scraped. The shouts turned from anger to panic. Gunshots rang in Krycek's headphones.   
He jumped to his feet, one hand on his gun. Should he call for backup now, or... ?   
A scream split the air, so loud it knocked Krycek back. The surveillance equipment rattled, then buzzed, then shrilled with feedback and distortion, which shattered and expanded the strange, ululating cry. Swearing and stumbling against the chair behind him, Krycek ripped the headphones off and threw them down onto the table. He stood with his hands over his ears, shaking and sweating. He could still hear the wailing scream emanating from the headphones, even through his hands. Moaning in pain, stomach churning, he fumbled for the volume control on the receiver.   
Then the scream stopped. Gasping for breath, he fell back into his chair and gingerly reached for the headphones. He hesitantly put them back on and carefully turned the volume control.   
Nothing. The equipment was dead. His ears were ringing, but there was not a sound from McCarthy's apartment. He turned the knob all the way up. There should at least be a slight hiss, or a crackle of static... nothing. The surveillance equipment was destroyed.   
Krycek pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and called headquarters to report the equipment failure.   
"Sounds like they had a bugsweeper in there."   
"Yeah, but they were right in the middle of a meeting," Krycek protested. "They were talking, then they started shouting at someone else who came in, then the scream started."   
"Well, the new arrival was probably the bugsweeper. That's how they fry the bugs, you know, with high-frequency tones. They'll go right through your head if you're listening when they do it."   
"I know," he said patiently. "But they were shouting at whoever came in, and I heard gunfire...." Never mind, no one was going to pay any attention to anything he said. "All right. But regardless of what happened, the equipment is gone. You might as well send somebody over to collect it. And I'm going to check out McCarthy's."   
"Careful. If it was a bugsweeper, they'll be expecting you."   
"I know. I'll be careful." Krycek hung up in disgust. Everyone still treated him like a wet-behind-the-ears plebe. Well, he couldn't exactly tell them about the experience he'd gotten working in black ops. But he'd show them he knew what he was doing.   
He pulled on his suit coat and stepped out into the hall. Others doors along the hall were open, and several people stood together, talking animatedly about the Noise.   
A middle-aged man in an undershirt and stained slacks turned to him. "Did you hear it? What the hell was it?"   
"I don't know. I thought... maybe it came from upstairs." If the whole building had heard it, it was no bugsweeper. That would only have affected the surveillance equipment. This was a genuine, huge, loud Noise.   
Uneasily, Krycek continued up the stairs. On the upper floor, people were also milling about the hallway.   
"Are you the police? I called the police," said a sharp-featured woman with curly, steel grey hair.   
He shook his head. "I was downstairs...." McCarthy was not out in the hall. His apartment door was closed. "Is everyone all right? It sounded like it was coming from up here."   
They looked at each other. A small, mousy woman nodded towards McCarthy's door. "I heard them in there before, but nothing since. They were shouting just as the noise started."   
Krycek bit his lip. "Maybe we should check."   
The curly-haired woman stepped up to McCarthy's door and rapped sharply. "Are you all right in there?"   
There was no response.   
Just then, two uniformed police arrived. The hallway crowd all tried to explain at once. Krycek took a deep breath, then pulled out his FBI badge and stepped forward. Everyone fell silent.   
"I'm Agent Krycek. I was here doing surveillance when the noise occurred. We think something happened to the men in this apartment."   
More confusion. More explanations. Eventually, the hallway crowd was sent back to their apartments, and the super was located and instructed to open McCarthy's door.   
Krycek and the two officers stepped inside. The two men lay in crumpled heaps, as if dropped carelessly to the floor by a giant hand. Their eyes were open and staring wildly, faces frozen in terror. A few drops of blood trickled from McCarthy's nose. It was the only blood or sign of trauma on either of the bodies. But they were quite dead.   
The rest of the morning flew by in a flurry of activity. Krycek was not equipped to work a crime scene, so he just stood by, making notes on his pad while the police did their job. He stayed until the coroner arrived to collect the bodies, then he headed back to FBI Headquarters to start organizing his notes and filing reports.   
He smiled to himself as he sat at his computer, typing up the morning's events. There had been another similar death in New York yesterday—that made it a serial killing across state lines, and that made it the FBI's jurisdiction. And as the agent on the scene when McCarthy's death occurred, Krycek was already on the case. If he looked sharp and did everything right, he might be allowed to keep working on it. A strange, ear-splitting noise and three mysterious deaths. It was as good as an X-File. And it was all his.   
Just before noon, he was notified that he was wanted in Skinner's office. He collected his notes and headed there at once.   
"You've got your notes with you, good," Assistant Director Skinner told him, after he instructed Krycek to sit. "You can leave them with me, I'll give them to the agent in charge."   
"Sir? I was on the case already, I'd like to...."   
"Your assignment was surveillance. This is homicide. Thank you for your good work, Agent Krycek. Your part in this investigation is over."   
Damn. "Have you assigned the case yet?"   
"There was a request filed for it an hour ago."   
Krycek gritted his teeth. "Sir, may I ask who requested it?"   
"Strange noises, blown surveillance devices, unexplained deaths—you know who requested it. It's an X-File. It's Agent Mulder's case."   
Krycek opened his mouth, then closed it. Mulder. Damn. Of course it would be him. "Sir, I...."   
Skinner stared. Krycek's voice trailed off. Skinner's expression softened slightly as he said, "Your notes, please, Agent Krycek."   
Reluctantly, Krycek handed over the file.   
"Take the rest of the day off. You'll have your new assignment in the morning."   
Krycek nodded once, then stood and walked stiffly out of the room. He went straight to the basement, straight to Mulder's office. Scully looked up, surprised, as he stormed into the room. Mulder wasn't there.   
"Where's Mulder?" His voice was husky and barely audible.   
"He's not here."   
"I can see that. Where is he?"   
"He's working. Why don't you call him?"   
"He's working on my case," he exploded. He knew he shouldn't be unloading on Scully. But Mulder wasn't there, and she was, and he was just too angry to let it go. "Why did he do that, Scully? He could have at least told me he was taking my case."   
She shook her head slightly. "I don't know what you mean. We're investigating the deaths of three men...."   
"Who suddenly dropped dead with no apparent cause of death, preceded by a loud, piercing noise...." he rattled off, hotly.   
She looked at him curiously. "How did you know that?"   
"I was there, Scully. I was sitting downstairs listening to the whole thing on the wire. That scream, whatever it was, blew out my equipment and nearly took my ears with it. I was first on the scene, with the two police officers called by a resident of the building. Don't tell me you didn't know that."   
Scully shook her head. "I didn't know that. Mulder said there was a police report. He didn't say anything about any FBI involvement. Maybe he didn't know."   
"He knew, Scully."   
She pursed her lips thoughtfully, then went over to Mulder's desk and picked up the file lying there. As she read, her mouth tightened. Krycek went to stand behind her. He reached over her shoulder to point at his name in the report. _FBI Agent Krycek was on the scene...._   
Scully closed the file and returned it to the desk. "Well, you know Mulder. It's an X-File. Of course he was going to want the case."   
"I know. But, damn it, I was right here in the building. Why didn't he talk to me about it? Why didn't he at least tell me what he was going to do?" His frustration was making him behave badly, he knew. He clenched his fists and tried to restrain his temper.   
Scully was calm, as always. "I don't know. You'll have to discuss it with Mulder."   
"I will. I will." He turned to go. A wave of nausea hit him as he touched the doorknob. He leaned against the door for a moment, waiting for it to pass.   
"Krycek, are you all right?" Scully asked.   
"Yeah." He turned back to her. She was watching him with a look of concern. "I haven't eaten yet today. Do you want to go have lunch?" He was as surprised as she was at his spur-of-the-moment invitation.   
She stared for a moment, then abruptly smiled and nodded. "All right." She gathered up her purse and coat and walked over to join him at the door.   
"Where do you want to go?" he asked, as they started up the stairs.   
"Mulder said you like Japanese."   
"Yeah."   
She smiled impishly. "He won't eat Japanese with me."   
Krycek felt himself coloring. "It was my celebration. He made a big deal of telling me I could eat anywhere I wanted."   
"Do you mind going there again?"   
"No, I don't mind. It's my favorite restaurant." Well, that was easy. All his lunch decisions should be made so smoothly. "I'll drive." 

* * *

He looked at the menu with a mental sigh. He hadn't planned on going out to lunch today. And he'd asked Scully, so he should pay. He'd have to use his credit card, already close to the limit. Well, he wasn't really that hungry anyway. He settled on soup with buckwheat noodles and agreed to share a California roll with Scully.   
"You've lost weight," Scully told him, running an appraising eye over him.   
He shrugged. "Have I? I guess I haven't been eating much. Too much going on."   
"Mulder said you were having money problems."   
He started to raise his hand to his hair, then stopped himself and fiddled with his chopsticks instead. "No, it's... just a little cash flow problem. I'll be fine once I get my first paycheck."   
"I'll get lunch, then."   
"Scully...." He fidgeted in his chair. "I'm fine, really. I was just joking with Mulder. I'll get lunch, it was my idea."   
"Call it another celebration lunch. My welcome back to the Bureau."   
He shrugged, too embarrassed to go on arguing about it. "Okay. Thanks." Then he grinned. "You should have told me before I ordered."   
She smiled back. "It's not too late to order more."   
"Nah. I'm not that hungry, anyway."   
"I thought you said you hadn't eaten today?"   
"I have a splitting headache. That damn noise, whatever it was. My ears are still ringing."   
She dug in her purse, and came up with a small bottle of aspirin, which she handed to him. He took it gratefully. She watched him as he swallowed two of the pills. "Did you see a doctor?"   
"What, me? No, it was just a noise. No worse than your average rock concert."   
"Krycek—loud, high-pitched noises can cause nausea, headaches, dizziness...."   
"Okay, okay. I'm getting sick just hearing about it. I'm fine. Can we just eat lunch?"   
She pursed her lips, looking him over with studious blue eyes. "All right. But if you're as wobbly after you eat as you were on the way in, I'm going to drive back."   
The sushi arrived, and Krycek decided he'd rather eat than continue to protest that he was fine. Wobbly? He'd never wobbled in his life. At least not sober. But he was hungry, once he started eating, and he began to wonder if he should have ordered more food after all.   
They discovered a common interest in opera, and spent most of the meal discussing favorite performances and singers. It was nice to be able to talk about it with someone—it was not a very macho interest, and Krycek usually kept it to himself. But Scully already knew about him, thanks to Mulder's compulsive need to tell her every detail of what had happened with Krycek, so it certainly wasn't going to do any harm for her to know that Puccini made him weak in the knees.   
It still made him very uncomfortable knowing that she knew that he'd had sex with Mulder. Not that the sex hadn't been good. In fact, that was the problem—it had been so good, and it didn't mean anything to Mulder, except another way to control him. It was more than a little humiliating to know that he'd melt into a pile of helpless mush any time Mulder touched him, and Mulder knew it, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. No doubt Scully knew it too. Cultivating her friendship this way was at least partly self-defense—if people were going to know your vulnerabilities that intimately, it was better to have them as friends. And she was nice to talk to. She had a wonderful way of mulling over everything you said and responding to it with care and intelligence. It made you feel very clever and taken seriously. No wonder Mulder was crazy about her. Calm and thoughtful. Mulder certainly didn't get anything like that from Krycek. He laughed hollowly.   
"What?" Scully asked.   
"Nothing. I just... Scully, do you think he's ever really going to forgive me?" He hadn't meant to bring Mulder up at all, but the words just tumbled out.   
"You have to be patient with him. This isn't easy for him."   
_It isn't easy for any of us, sweetheart._ "I can be patient. I'd just like to know there's something I'm being patient for."   
"He wants to like you. I think it scares him."   
"I know that. I just want to know if he's so scared he's never going to get over it."   
She shrugged helplessly. "I can't answer that, Krycek."   
He sighed. "I know. I shouldn't be asking you about this, anyway."   
"No, it's all right. Mulder needs friends—people who are on his side; people he can count on. I've borne the burden alone for a long time. I think you could be someone like that. But with your history with him, it's very difficult. He has to know that you're not going to let him down again."   
"I won't. But there's no way I can prove that."   
"It just takes time. Be patient with him, Krycek—Alex. Be patient."   
He nodded, smiling tightly. "Well. Thanks for lunch, Scully. I've had a good time."   
"Me, too." She smiled sympathetically. "How's your headache?"   
"Better." Now it only felt like one guy with a jackhammer working on the inside of his temples, rather than six. He was glad he didn't have to go back to work. "Are you going to let me drive?"   
She laughed. "I think I'll trust you."   
Now, if only Mulder would. 

* * *

Krycek shrugged out of his suit coat and loosened his tie as he walked into his apartment. It was only three in the afternoon, but his head still ached and he was exhausted. He'd just take a short nap before trying to do anything else with the day.   
He stumbled on a pile of magazines in front of the couch, then sat down to pull off his shoes. In the sleeping alcove, he managed to hang up his suit and tie, but his shirt he flung into the floor before crawling into bed in his underwear and pulling the covers up over his head. He was asleep in an instant. 

* * *

The door buzzer jerked him awake. He struggled loose from the tangled covers and pushed himself out of bed, yawning. It always made him feel strange to sleep during the day. He padded out to the hallway, swearing as he stumbled over the pile of magazines again, and pressed the speaker button. "Yeah?"   
"Krycek. It's Mulder."   
_Oh, god._ He pressed the door release, then looked around wildly. The place was a mess. He was a mess. Well, there wasn't time to do anything about it before Mulder got to the fifth floor except pull on a pair of pants. He hurried back to the sleeping alcove and found a pair of jeans at the bottom of the wardrobe that didn't look too dirty. He nearly put his foot through the hole in the knee as he pulled them on. More-or-less clothed, he sat on the bed and rubbed his face in his hands. His heart was pounding, and not just from being so suddenly awakened. Mulder was here. He was not ready for this.   
There was a knock on the door. Running his hands through his hair—and belatedly realizing he should have combed it—he went to open the door.   
Mulder was impeccable, as usual, in an elegant, perfectly-fitting grey suit. It made Krycek feel twice as sloppy. "Hi, Mulder." He stood aside to let Mulder in, then followed him into the apartment. "Sorry about the mess." He scooped up a pile of papers from the couch and dumped them onto the desk.   
"Don't worry about it. I guess I should have called. Scully said you wanted to talk to me.... Are you all right? Scully said you were sick."   
"I'm all right. I fell asleep. I didn't mean to." He looked at his watch - nearly seven o'clock. He'd slept for four hours. "Must have been more tired than I thought."   
"We can do this later, if...."   
"No, now's fine. Just give me a minute to wake up." He suddenly felt the need to have a shirt on. He went back into the sleeping alcove, grabbed his white shirt from the floor and pulled it on, buttoning a few buttons at random.   
"What did you want to talk to me about?" Mulder called from the other room.   
Krycek came back and stood before Mulder on the couch. "Mulder...." Maybe he really didn't want to do this now. He struggled to clear his head. "Why did you steal my case?"   
"What case?" Mulder seemed bemused. "It wasn't your case."   
It was the casual dismissal in Mulder's tone that sent his blood boiling."Yes, it was. Or it could have been. If you hadn't been so quick to grab it."   
"Skinner wasn't going to let you keep the case. You're surveillance, not violent crimes. You've been back in the Bureau less than a week, did you think he was going to hand over a multiple homicide like that?"   
"He might have." Krycek bit his lip. "Anyway, you could have at least told me you were going to take it."   
"Why? What good would that have done?"   
"It would have made me feel like a little less of a fool when Skinner told me to hand over my notes."   
Mulder shook his head slightly. "All right. If it happens again, I'll tell you first. I really didn't think you'd be so upset about it."   
"All right." Well, that was too easy. And not very satisfying. Mulder was just humoring him. "I suppose it never occurred to you that we might work the case together."   
"I already have a partner, Krycek." Now Mulder was openly amused.   
"I know that, Mulder," Krycek snapped. "You don't have to treat me like a child. I've been watching McCarthy for a week. I know the background of the case. I was there when it happened. I might have been able to help you."   
Mulder stood and put his hand on Krycek's arm. Krycek jerked away. His head was pounding again. And he wanted nothing more than to push Mulder down on the couch and kiss him senseless.   
Mulder spoke placatingly. "I was planning to talk to you. I want to find out everything you know about the case. I want all the help you can give me."   
"Well. You should have talked to me sooner, that's all," Krycek mumbled.   
"Okay, I'm sorry," Mulder said softly. "I really am sorry."   
Krycek nodded. Now he felt stupid, like he'd overreacted about the whole thing. "Look, Mulder, it's just... I don't know what's going on with you. One minute you're nice to me, and then you act like you don't want anything to do with me—if you just told me to get the hell out of your life, I'd go, and forget about it—but then you go and do something like what you did in the car the other day—I don't know what you want from me."   
"I don't know, either."   
"Well, just don't screw around with me, Mulder. I'm not asking for much. Just a little consideration."   
"I know." Mulder took Krycek's arm again, held on tightly this time. "But you can't expect too much from me, after everything that's happened."   
Krycek tried to pull away, but Mulder wouldn't let him go. He didn't have the strength to really fight him. His eyes burned. "You're never going to be able to forget all that, are you? I'm going to have to pay for it for the rest of my life."   
Mulder shook his head. "I'm not trying to make you pay for it. But I can't just pretend it never happened."   
The words caught in his throat; he could barely force them out. "Just tell me what you want, Mulder. What do you want from me?"   
"Honesty, for one thing. No more games."   
"Honesty about what?"   
"About what's going on with you." He hesitated for a moment. "About how you feel. I asked you once before and you wouldn't tell me."   
Krycek had a sinking feeling that he knew where this was leading. _Oh, yes, I'm going to have to pay...._ "Tell you what?"   
Mulder hesitated again. His fingers bit into Krycek's arm. There were going to be bruises. "How do you feel about me, really?"   
Krycek jerked his arm away again. This time Mulder let him go. "You already know."   
"I still want you to tell me."   
He tried to swallow, and couldn't. "Why? Why should I say it?"   
"You lied to me right from the start. You're still lying to me, whenever you think you can get away with it. You twist things to make everything come out to your advantage. I'm sick of trying to figure out what's real and what isn't. For once in your life, just tell me the damn truth!"   
"Damn you. All right. All right! I love you. Does that make you happy?" He whirled away from Mulder and stood shaking. "I love you," he repeated, softly.   
So Mulder had done it to him again, just like that first time. Forced him to give up everything. _Turn over and shut up and take it._ And he just let him do it. He felt used and sick to his stomach. He wished to hell he'd never met Fox Mulder.   
Mulder came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. "I can't give you the relationship you want."   
He turned sharply, throwing Mulder's hand off. "What the hell makes you think you know what I want?"   
Mulder stood silent, unhappy and helpless.   
Krycek turned away again, and spat out the words in a low monotone. "Mulder, I've known from the start that working for the Bureau meant that I was going to have to make certain sacrifices in my private life. I was not going to be able to live with anyone, or have a relationship out in the open, or even spend the night more than every once in a while. But my job is important to me, so I'm willing to make those sacrifices." He turned and faced Mulder, staring him right in the eye. "So, no matter how I feel about you, I don't want to marry you or anything like that. All I want is to be able to spend a little time with you, like that lunch we had the other day. I'd like to know that you forgive me for what I did, and that you don't hate me any more."   
"I don't hate you."   
Ridiculous that those four words should make him feel so good. "So how do you feel, Mulder? Honesty goes both ways."   
Mulder nodded. He sat back down on the couch, staring at his hands.   
_That's how it always is with you, isn't it, Mulder? You can dish it out, but you can't take it._ Krycek's couch was small—if he sat beside Mulder, he'd be touching him. Mulder looked like he needed a little space right now. Krycek pulled the desk chair around and sat in it backwards. And waited.   
Mulder loosened his tie. "I, um... I'm not sure how I feel."   
"Come on, Mulder, it's not that hard. You don't hate me. You don't love me."   
Mulder closed his eyes and looked away.   
Krycek hammered away. "You're not indifferent to me. What's left? You like me, but you wish you didn't? You're attracted, but it makes you feel weird, because you think you're straight? You like knowing you can get me going, but it scares you, because it gets you going, too?"   
Mulder offered a very tentative smile. "Something like that."   
"I'm sorry it scares you, Mulder. It scares me, too. Sometimes I think... it would have been better if we'd never met. It was a lot easier when you were just a picture I was carrying around in my wallet."   
Mulder grinned, suddenly, and reached into his back pocket for his wallet. "I've been meaning to give you this." He pulled a strip of paper from his wallet and held it out to Krycek.   
Krycek took the paper. His heart lurched. Four badly-posed black-and-white photos of Mulder—the kind that came four-for-a-dollar from booths at fairs and amusement parks. They were cracked in the middle from being folded in Mulder's wallet. "Jesus, Mulder." He couldn't look at them; he was going to cry. He reached blindly behind himself to drop the photos onto the desk.   
"Well, I just thought... since I made you lose the one you had...." Mulder mumbled, embarrassed.   
"Mulder, this is just the kind of shit... you do that...." Krycek stood up suddenly, and pushed the chair aside. He stood before Mulder, fists clenched, simultaneously wanting to fling himself onto Mulder, bawling, and scream at him to get out and never come back.   
"I didn't mean...."   
"You never mean it, do you? Mulder, you either know exactly what you're doing to me, and you're cruel, or you don't know, and you're stupid."   
Mulder smiled faintly. "Well, given the choice, I think I'd rather be stupid."   
"You are not a stupid person."   
He sighed. "When it comes to you, I am. I don't mean to hurt you, Alex. Honestly."   
"Then what do you mean to do?"   
Mulder stood up. Several times he seemed about to speak, but no words would come out. Finally, he said, "If I thought we could have any sort of normal relationship...."   
"We haven't really tried yet, have we?"   
Mulder stared at him, hazel eyes searching intently. Krycek could see him weighing, considering, wondering, trying to decide—what? Then he reached out a hand and touched Krycek's cheek. "Do you remember what you said to me, when I brought you here after... ?"   
Krycek drew a deep, ragged breath, and tried to get his throat working. "I was pretty out of it, I don't remember much of anything." _Except you undressing me and putting me to bed._   
"You said it might be nice to see what it's like, just once, when we don't hate each other."   
"Well, that was stupid." Then Krycek grinned. "Why just once?" His heart was in his throat. Was Mulder really asking him to bed?   
There was that slow, sweet smile again—the one that made Krycek dizzy. Mulder said softly, "Why don't we just start with once, and see how it goes?"   
"Sounds like a deal." Krycek wanted to fling himself onto Mulder, to take him in his arms. But no—let Mulder make the first move this time. Don't let him think that somehow Krycek had maneuvered him into it again. Let him know, without a doubt, that he'd chosen to do this.   
Mulder took Krycek's face in both hands. Tentatively, delicately he brushed his lips against the other man's. Krycek held himself still with great effort, allowing Mulder to explore his face with his fingers, to cover his mouth with light kisses. He could barely breathe, and he felt himself grow light-headed under Mulder's gentle caresses.   
Then Mulder wrapped his arms around him, and held him tightly, and pressed his lips firmly over Krycek's. Their tongues met in a long, slow, leisurely kiss. Krycek could feel his own heart pounding as he pressed his body against Mulder's, and allowed himself finally to respond, to slide his own arms around Mulder's back and return the kiss. It was sheer perfection. He wanted this moment in time to go on forever—Mulder holding him, kissing him; not angry or hateful, just wanting him. He knew it wasn't going to last, and maybe it would never happen again, but this once in his life he had everything he wanted.   
His hands curled in the luxurious fabric of Mulder's suit. How did Mulder afford suits like this? They were gorgeous and elegant, like the man himself. He wanted Mulder's clothes. He wanted Mulder. He wanted not to be such a hopeless, helpless fool. He wanted to stop thinking and go on kissing forever.   
But everyone had to breathe sometime. It was Mulder who pulled his mouth away, still holding Krycek tightly, stroking Krycek's back. He smiled. His eyes held an invitation, which Krycek gladly accepted.   
"My room's a mess," Krycek couldn't help warning.   
"I'll keep my eyes closed," Mulder murmured, and he did so, then demonstrating his ability to find Krycek's lips without using his eyesight.   
"Better not, you'll trip over something," Krycek said, when his mouth was free again.   
"As long as there's room in the bed."   
"I'll make room." And, still embracing Mulder, he began to move toward the sleeping alcove, walking backwards, punctuating each step with more kisses.   
At the bed, Krycek took Mulder's coat by the lapels and slid it off over his shoulders. It was too nice to be tossed onto the floor. He turned to the wardrobe to look for a spare hanger. Of course, there weren't any. He pulled his leather jacket off its hanger and tossed it into the bottom of the wardrobe, then started to put Mulder's coat on it. He was distracted by Mulder's hands on his waist, and Mulder's warm breath as he whispered in Krycek's ear, "What are you doing?"   
"I'm hanging up your suit. Or would you rather have it in a wrinkled pile in the floor?"   
"You're my valet now?" Mulder kissed his ear, and rubbed his crotch against Krycek's hips. Then he started working on the buttons of Krycek's jeans.   
Krycek fumbled the hanger onto the pole, and turned around. "Hang up your own damn suit."   
The rest of Mulder's clothes eventually made it onto the hanger; Krycek's were added to the pile already in the floor. Naked at last, he was suddenly too impatient to wait for Mulder to take the lead, as he meant to do. Krycek pushed the other man down onto the bed and climbed on top of him. Kissing him frantically, Krycek tried to bring himself under some sort of control. He was too desperate; he was going to lose it. He wanted this to last and he wanted it to be good—so good that Mulder would want to do it again and again. Or, if this was going to be just once, he wanted it to be the best possible "just once." He wanted to do everything. And nothing. He wanted to coax Mulder into taking him again like he did the first time, rough and hard. And he wanted to turn the tables, and tell Mulder to lie there and shut up and take it. He wanted so much he couldn't think.   
With a despairing groan, he pushed himself off of Mulder and lay beside him, gasping for breath. Mulder turned on his side, head propped up on his elbow, and took Krycek's chin in his hand. "What's the matter?"   
"I'm just... confused."   
"Confused about what?" Mulder stroked Krycek's lower lip with his middle finger.   
"I don't know. I think too much. I want everything to be perfect, but it never is."   
"Perfection doesn't exist, Alex. I suppose we should have talked about this a little more before we jumped into bed again."   
"No, I...." Krycek took Mulder's hand in his, and kissed the tips of his fingers. "Just tell me you're not going to walk away afterwards and pretend it never happened."   
"I won't."   
"Because I think I can live with it if you don't want to have sex again. But I don't want to pretend it didn't happen."   
"Alex." Mulder sighed. "This isn't a test, you know. Take it easy."   
"Isn't it?"   
"No. Look...." He paused, biting his lip. "If I could walk away from you, I already would have. But I'm here. And it doesn't look like I'm going anywhere real soon." Then he smiled. "And I already know you're good in bed. You don't have anything to prove to me. So relax."   
Krycek took a deep breath. All right, it wasn't exactly a declaration of undying love, but at least Mulder wasn't going to run off the minute it was over. And it was very nice to be told that he was good in bed. He rolled over on top of Mulder. "What do you want to do?"   
"I don't know. You're the expert."   
Krycek grinned. "Oh, right. No pressure."   
Mulder chuckled. "Just shut up and do something."   
"Mmm, that's what I want to hear." Krycek purred, rubbing his body against Mulder's. "Get tough with me, I like that." Mulder's cock was hardening beneath him; he lifted his hips and stroked his own cock against Mulder's.   
Mulder's eyes glazed over, and those beautiful full lips were parted. They needed to be kissed. His whole face needed to be kissed, in fact—and Krycek proceeded to do just that, trailing wet kisses from forehead to chin. Then he ran his tongue along that generous lower lip, biting and sucking gently, then kissed him deeply.   
He was going to wear the lips right off his face if he kept this up, but he just couldn't get enough. So he kissed Mulder until he thought he'd pass out, then he moved down between Mulder's legs and began to kiss his erect cock. From the underside of the shaft at the base, all the way up to the firm head, where he paused to tickle the crown with his tongue—to gratifying little gasps and squeaks of pleasure from the cock's owner—then down the other side, he planted moist kisses. With one hand he cupped Mulder's balls, squeezing gently, and with his fingers he traced patterns on the quivering belly. He began to lick and suck the silky skin of the hard cock, but did not yet take it into his mouth. Until Mulder, moaning, tightened his fingers in Krycek's hair, pulling hard and demanding more. Then Krycek slid his lips around the shaft, circling the base with his fingers.   
Mulder squirmed and thrust, still clutching Krycek's hair. _Yeah, that's right, Mulder, go for it...._ It would be very nice to bring Mulder off this way. Sometime he would, but not this time. This time he wanted more. He let Mulder's cock slide out of his mouth for a moment, just long enough to spit on his fingers so he could work them up Mulder's ass. Mulder cried out when his prostate was stroked, pulling Krycek's hair so hard it brought tears to his eyes. Good thing he didn't mind a little pain. He could have Mulder now, like he did last time. Turn him over and plough his sweet ass. But he didn't want that either—not this time. He didn't want to have to be careful with the less-experienced man, he wanted to let himself go and stop thinking. He wanted Mulder to let go, too, and to feel free to do whatever he wanted.   
He eased his fingers out of Mulder's ass, gave his cock a last lick, and pulled himself up to the head of the bed. He stopped for a few more kisses before reaching into the nightstand for a condom and lubricant. Mulder watched him as he brought out the small, foil-wrapped package and blue-and-white tube. Krycek smiled. _It's not what you think, Mulder._ Then he unwrapped the condom and began to roll it onto Mulder's cock. Mulder let his head fall back onto the pillow with a hazy smile, as he realized what Krycek was going to do.   
Krycek straddled Mulder's thighs and uncapped the tube of lubricant. Before he could squeeze out any of the gel, Mulder took it from him and squirted the gel onto his own fingers. Then he reached between Krycek's legs and pressed his wet fingers into Krycek's anus.   
Krycek whispered "Yeah... ," and moved forward onto his knees so that Mulder could reach him more easily, bracing himself on his hands, and moaning with each breath. Yeah, this was what he wanted. Mulder's fingers thrust into him, shiveringly sweet. He was ready almost as soon as Mulder touched him. He lifted his hips. "Okay, babe," he said, and Mulder let his fingers slide free. Then he reached down to grip Mulder's cock in his hand, guiding it to the entrance of his body. He closed his eyes and moved his hips, squirming to find the easiest angle of entry, gradually lowering himself onto the shaft. Mulder thrust gently, working with Krycek's movements, helping him to settle himself onto Mulder's cock.   
Finally he had it all the way inside him. Krycek relaxed, letting his body weight push the shaft even deeper into him. He took a deep, shuddering breath. Mulder gripped his shoulders and pulled him down for a kiss. He took Mulder's face in his hands and returned the kiss with passion, moving his hips up and down, fucking himself on Mulder's cock.   
Krycek liked being fucked. But it was awkward being on top. It soon grew uncomfortable bending forward on his knees like this. He couldn't get the motion he wanted. And Mulder couldn't fuck him properly from underneath, either. Time for a change in position. Perhaps Mulder would like something a little more adventurous.   
Krycek wrapped one arm around Mulder's shoulders, braced the other on the mattress, and began to sit up, pulling Mulder up with him, until they were both sitting upright. Mulder drew up his knees, and Krycek leaned back on them, warm and comfortable with Mulder's thighs against his bottom. Now he wasn't quite so cramped. They could kiss, and he could slide himself up and down on Mulder's cock.   
But Mulder had even less freedom to maneuver in this position. He was moaning, fingers digging into Krycek's shoulders, trying to thrust. Sweat beaded his face, and he grimaced with the effort. Deliberately, Krycek slowed his movements. See what a little frustration would encourage Mulder to do.   
Mulder groaned; his teeth bit into Krycek's shoulder. Then he spread his legs and pushed Krycek back. Without the support of Mulder's knees, Krycek fell back onto the mattress, his bottom still resting on Mulder's lap. Mulder wriggled out from under him, pulling his cock free a little more suddenly than Krycek liked, to sit on his heels between Krycek's legs. Krycek whimpered a little when Mulder's cock slid out of him, but he lay still and waited to see what Mulder would do. Mulder stared down at him, the expression on his sweat-streaked face grown suddenly hard. For one heartbeat, Krycek thought that Mulder was going to hit him. But then Mulder drew a deep breath and hooked his arms behind Krycek's knees, lifting the other man's hips off the mattress, and reentering the already-stretched entrance with one swift thrust of his cock. Now Mulder was on top, holding Krycek quite helpless with his legs in the air, pumping hard and deep.   
Krycek squirmed, trying to regain some sort of equilibrium, but Mulder was holding him tightly, and he was bent in half and his head was hanging half off the end of the bed and he couldn't quite seem to breathe and he tried to protest but all his throat could produce were these little squeaky noises.... And who wanted to protest, come to think of it? Every hard thrust of Mulder's cock was sending shivering waves of fire through him. He'd been trying to shake Mulder out of his passivity, hadn't he? He hadn't expected quite such a sudden and complete reversal of fortunes, but he was quite willing to have Mulder ravish him. The discomfort of having his knees jammed against his chest was all part of the thrill, now. He stopped struggling and wrapped his arms around Mulder's shoulders, yielding to Mulder's desire.   
But as soon as he relaxed, Mulder stopped thrusting, holding him still for a moment, then withdrew agonizingly slowly until just the tip of his cock pressed against Krycek's anus, and reentered just as slowly, sliding almost fully in before giving a short, sharp thrust. Apparently, turnabout was fair play—and Krycek was going to get the slow torture now. Mulder continued this way, with long, slow, frustrating, wonderful strokes, and Krycek gasped with each thrust, muttering incoherently, wriggling helplessly, almost sobbing with need.   
He was going to go mad. Mulder must take pity on him and stop this. But he still couldn't get a coherent word past his lips. He buried his face in Mulder's neck and prepared to expire from exceedingly slow fucking.   
Finally, Mulder withdrew completely, and released him, collapsing onto his side. Krycek immediately took the opportunity to roll over onto his stomach, legs parted in invitation. Enough fooling around, now he wanted to be fucked properly.   
Mulder found the tube of lubricant and applied more between Krycek's buttocks. Krycek's body was so sensitized now that he shivered and jumped at Mulder's touch. The cool gel felt good on his burning ass. Then Mulder settled between Krycek's legs and began fucking him in earnest. He clutched at the end of the mattress and lifted his hips to Mulder's pounding cock. He was not going to last long now. And from the urgency of Mulder's rhythm, he would not either. Krycek shifted slightly, so that his cock rubbed the mattress with each thrust of Mulder's hips into his ass.   
Krycek shouted his release, grinding his hips into the mattress. Mulder followed, driving into him hard. Wave after wave shook them both. Finally, they collapsed into an exhausted heap. Krycek could feel Mulder's heart pounding against his back.   
Now, the moment of truth. Mulder had said he wouldn't run off, but would he be happy about it? Would he regret having given in to his passion again? Would he pretend it hadn't meant anything and try to shrug it off? In his position, Krycek couldn't see Mulder's face or put his arms around him. At least Mulder wasn't scrambling to get away from him, like he had that first heartbreaking time. It was nice lying here with Mulder on top of him. Very nice. He could get used to this, and he'd probably better not. He sighed, part contentment and part wistful regret.   
Mulder stirred, kissed him between the shoulderblades, and rolled off. He peered over the edge of the bed, obviously looking for a place to dispose of the condom. There wasn't one, of course.   
"Just throw it in the floor," Krycek advised.   
Mulder looked at him, laughing. "You're disgusting."   
Krycek shrugged. "Never thought I'd need a wastebasket in here. You're the first lover I've had up here."   
Mulder's smile suddenly turned very sweet. "Nice save," he said softly. Then he got up to go find the bathroom.   
Krycek lay like a lump, letting his arms flop over the end of the bed. He was never going to move again. He was going to walk funny tomorrow, too. Well, that was all right. He kind of liked having that little twinge the next day to remind him of a particularly good fucking. He was going to have to show up at Skinner's office first thing in the morning, though, to get his new assignment. He hoped he could keep the silly grin off his face.   
"You look like somebody killed you." Mulder stood in the doorway, looking at him with a self-satisfied smile.   
"Somebody did." Krycek rolled over onto his side and looked up at his lover. He felt a tiny illicit thrill at thinking of Mulder as his lover. "Want to kill me again?"   
"Not right now. I'm hungry."   
"Me too." Of course there was nothing there to eat. Damn. He didn't want to go out, and he didn't want Mulder to leave. "Want to order a pizza?"   
"Okay." Mulder went over to the wardrobe and found his suit, and pulled his cellular from the coat pocket. "What do you like on your pizza?"   
"Whatever you want's fine."   
Mulder hit two buttons and waited for the number to dial.   
"Mulder, you've got pizza delivery on your cellular speed dial... ?"   
Mulder grinned. "Of course." Then he spoke into the phone. "It's Mulder... Yeah, the usual. Make it a large.... No, I'm at a friend's house." He gave Krycek's address and disconnected. "It'll be half an hour."   
"So I'm your friend, huh?"   
Mulder set the phone down on the nightstand. "Well, what do you want me to call you?"   
"No, I don't mean that. I like hearing you say I'm your friend."   
Mulder went to sit beside Krycek on the end of the bed. He stroked Krycek's back. His face was thoughtful. "I wanted you to be a friend. When Scully was taken, you were there for me. You helped me. Then you disappeared too, and I found out you'd helped them take her—I don't know if you can understand how much that hurt."   
Krycek buried his face in his arms. He didn't want to hear about his betrayals again. Wasn't it ever going to be over? But Mulder continued to rub his back, with slow soothing motions. And he didn't sound angry. "As much as it hurt, that's how much I wanted to like you."   
"Mulder...." His voice was muffled in his arms. Then he looked up, sadly.   
Mulder smiled reassuringly. "I'm glad I don't have to hate you any more."   
Krycek sighed, shifted onto his side, slid his arms around Mulder's waist and put his head in his lap. "Me too."   
Mulder stroked his hair. "Think we should get dressed before the pizza gets here?"   
Krycek hugged him harder. "No. Not yet."   
Mulder smiled down at him. "Okay."   
Looked like Mulder was going to indulge him right up to the limit tonight - he'd better take full advantage; he had a feeling it wasn't going to happen very often. On the other hand, maybe he shouldn't. Mulder could still wake up in the morning wondering what the hell had come over him last night, and it wouldn't do to have him feeling too overwhelmed by what they'd done. Sudden storms of passion were one thing, one could always rationalize them away, but lingering naked in bed over pizza was the province of lovers, and he didn't think Mulder was quite ready to deal with that kind of emotional attachment.   
Krycek sighed and detached himself, then pushed himself off the bed, gave Mulder a sloppy kiss that mostly missed his mouth, and went into the bathroom.   
As he washed his hands, he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. God, he looked dissipated. His hair was going every which way, his eyes were puffy, his lips were red and chapped. He ran damp hands through his hair, trying to flatten it into some sort of shape. _Are you sure it's just Mulder who's not ready to deal with this?_ he asked the image in the mirror. He'd just gotten his job back, damn it, he should be concentrating on that, not on seducing Mulder. He was going to screw things up again, he always did, and the more he wanted something the worse he screwed it up. Now he wanted his job, and he wanted Mulder, and he was going to lose them both. He wasn't sure how, but just the fact that he wanted them so badly was enough to make him sure he couldn't have them.   
Then to hell with it. Mulder was here, tonight, and he didn't seem to be agonizing over tomorrow, so why should Krycek? And as long as they were reasonably discreet, he and Mulder could fuck each other senseless without any danger to their jobs.   
He splashed some cold water on his face and went back to the sleeping alcove. Mulder had straightened out the covers and plumped up the pillows in Krycek's absence; he was now stretched out languidly on the bed with the sheet up to his waist. He looked relaxed and content and absolutely gorgeous. Krycek smiled and went to get in beside him. Mulder tucked his arm around the other man's shoulders and pulled him close. Krycek slid an arm around Mulder's waist and rested his head on his chest. It was just too perfect; it couldn't possibly be real. _I'll make you fall in love with me,_ he thought. For just one moment, he was ready to say to hell with the FBI and become a happy housewife. But only a moment. He'd meant what he said to Mulder about being willing to sacrifice relationships for his career. And even if he weren't, Mulder certainly wasn't going to give up his work for love. Why on earth couldn't he just be happy with what he had and stop wanting the world?   
"How are you doing?" Mulder asked, interrupting his reverie.   
"Mm. Fine."   
Mulder stroked his hair. "I can see the wheels turning in there. They never stop. I wonder what's going on in that busy little head of yours?"   
He snuggled closer. "Nothing."   
"I don't believe that."   
"Nothing worth talking about."   
"So, I can get into your pants, but not in your head?"   
Krycek took a deep breath. "Mulder... I just don't want to say anything that's going to wreck this."   
"What are you thinking that's going to wreck this?"   
He stroked Mulder's chest and sighed. He was definitely not going to start babbling about undying love, or whining at Mulder to stay with him. Pathetic. Mulder had already dragged one confession out of him today, he wasn't going to get another. But if he didn't say something, he was going to come off as keeping secrets, and that wouldn't do either. "Mulder, you know how I feel. I just don't want to go on about it. What's the point?"   
"I never feel like you're being completely honest with me. Even if you do tell the truth, you're selectively picking which pieces you're going to tell me, putting the best possible spin on it. You never let your guard down."   
"Everybody does that."   
"Yes, to a certain extent. Not the way you do. Alex, you don't have to be afraid to talk to me. You're not going to scare me off."   
Krycek sighed. "Yeah, right."   
Mulder was silent.   
_Great. No matter what you do, you screw things up,_ Krycek told himself in disgust. So maybe he should just go ahead and start whining. "Are you going to regret this tomorrow?" he asked suddenly.   
Mulder hugged him close. "No." He paused. "Maybe a little. I haven't... done anything like this in a long time."   
"Like this? Like hang around in bed naked with a guy?"   
Mulder chuckled. "That too. But I meant, have sex with somebody who wasn't just a one night stand."   
_Not just a one night stand._ Oh, that was sweet to hear. "So, how long has it been?"   
"Oh... college, I guess."   
Krycek laughed. Mulder curled his fingers in the other man's hair, and tugged gently. "Well, it's probably been since college for me, too. Of course, college for me wasn't nearly as long ago as it was for you."   
That resulted in a sharper pull on his hair, to which he responded by pinching the nipple that was conveniently under his hand, and a brief wrestling match ensued that ended with Mulder on top of him, holding his wrists to the mattress, and kissing him into submission.   
Unfortunately, before he could properly express his complete surrender, the door buzzer rang. Mulder pushed off of him, laughing. Krycek reluctantly got out of bed, muttering.   
"What timing. Why couldn't he have been late, like they usually are? Another fifteen minutes...." He went out to the hallway and buzzed the pizza delivery boy in, then back to the sleeping alcove to find a pair of jeans from the floor to pull on. Now, where had he left his wallet? Not in these pants. He started searching through the clothes on the floor.   
"Alex." Mulder was propped up on one elbow, smiling at him. "Get my wallet out of my pants. There should be enough there."   
"Mulder, I can afford a pizza."   
"Not if you can't find your wallet. Go on—you can take me out to dinner after payday."   
That sounded nice. And anyway, there was the doorbell, and he still had no idea where his own wallet was. He found Mulder's wallet and went to pay for the pizza, tipping generously. Well, Mulder had nearly a hundred dollars in his wallet. He could afford it. He tucked Mulder's wallet into his back pocket and carried the pizza back into the main room.   
Mulder stood, naked, at the doorway of the sleeping alcove. "Where are we going to eat?"   
"In bed, I guess." He didn't have a table. When he ate at home, he just sat on the couch with the plate on his lap. They could do that, he supposed, but he didn't want to get dressed just yet. He wanted to play out this cozy post-coital scene as long as possible. Maybe after the pizza, they could finish that little wrestling match.   
"There will be grease all over the place," Mulder commented.   
"Mulder, I'm going to have to wash those sheets tomorrow, anyway. Don't worry about it." He handed Mulder the pizza box. "I'll get something to drink."   
Mulder laughed. "Alex, you are a pig. I never knew this about you."   
Krycek just grinned at him over his shoulder as he headed into the kitchen. He had a nearly full two-liter bottle of Coke in the refrigerator. He grabbed that and a roll of paper towels and went to rejoin Mulder.   
They spread paper towels on the end of the bed to put the pizza box on - Mulder seemed a bit relieved to find that Krycek wasn't a total slob—and Krycek pulled his jeans off, pulling Mulder's wallet out of the back pocket. He held up the wallet and grinned. Mulder nodded, and Krycek sat on the edge of the bed, inspecting the contents. Mulder lay on the bed behind him, rubbing his back while he went through the credit cards, receipts, and other miscellaneous bits of paper. There was a photo of a little girl—this must be his sister, Samantha. She had long dark hair and an impish smile. And a generous, Mulder-shaped nose. It looked as adorable on her as it did on him. Krycek had no brothers or sisters himself. He tried to imagine having, and losing, one, and failed utterly.   
There were no other photographs. He was slightly relieved to find that there were no pictures of Scully—though he hadn't really expected any. No pictures of himself, either, of course. He made sure to check every space carefully. No hidden treasures. Mulder wore his obsessions quite publicly—too self-absorbed to care about anyone else's opinions.   
Mulder tapped his shoulder gently. "Come on, put it away and let's eat."   
Krycek smiled over his shoulder at Mulder and got up to obey. Being allowed to go through Mulder's wallet was another intimacy that soothed and reassured him. Of course, considering that Mulder had demanded to inspect his wallet months ago, he could hardly refuse to let Krycek see his now. Still, he wasn't at all hesitant or uncomfortable about it. Krycek replaced the wallet in Mulder's pants pocket, grabbed a slice of pizza and jumped back into bed.   
"So," Mulder said, "Tell me about McCarthy."   
"Huh?"   
Mulder looked at him with an amused smile. "You know. The case you came crashing into my office today to yell at Scully for stealing from you."   
"Oh. That." He felt his face go red. God, he'd totally forgotten about the case. It seemed like ages ago now. "McCarthy was a setting up a major counterfeit check scheme. He'd done it all over the Eastern Seaboard. He was expecting someone at seven A.M. When the other man arrived, he called him Morris. But neither of them said anything incriminating before they dropped dead."   
"Did you know who the other man was?"   
"No, I didn't know. I presume he's been identified by now?"   
"Morris Bloodworth. He's from Chicago. He has a record of arrests for fraud, extortion, various con games. There's no previous connection to McCarthy that we know of."   
"What about the man O'Donnell, who got killed in New York yesterday?"   
"Another medium-level hood. He'd worked with Bloodworth before."   
"Did you get a cause of death yet?"   
"Cardiac arrest, for all three of them."   
Krycek frowned at him. "Come on, Mulder. All that means is their hearts stopped."   
Mulder shrugged. "I know. So far, that's all we know happened. Tell me about the noise you heard."   
"It was loud. Too loud for me to really tell anything about it. Everybody in the building heard it, you should talk to some of them."   
"I have. Mostly, they said it sounded like a woman screaming."   
Krycek shook his head. "Loud enough to blow surveillance equipment? Not unless she had a P.A. with her. What about trace evidence? Anything on who the third person in the room was?"   
"Not yet. No one saw anybody else come in or out, either. Although, in the confusion...."   
"The neighbors upstairs said that no one had come out of McCarthy's apartment."   
"The person might have left before people came out of their apartments."   
"Maybe." Krycek paused to take another bite of his pizza. Now that he'd finally started to eat, he found that he was ravenous. He really hadn't been eating enough lately. "I bet you don't discuss cases with Scully like this."   
Mulder tried to glare at him, but ended up smiling. "No. No late-night pizza in bed with Scully."   
"Don't you ever want to?"   
"I doubt Scully would let anyone bring greasy pizza into her bed." Mulder grinned, deliberately misinterpreting the question.   
"Mulder. You know what I mean. Did you ever want to have sex with Scully?"   
"Of course. But she's my partner. It wouldn't be right."   
"Still, you must have been tempted...."   
Mulder sighed and shook his head. "Alex, Scully is not your competition."   
Krycek colored. Why did Mulder have to assume he was jealous of Scully? "I know. I like her. We had a nice lunch today. Are you going to tell her about this?"   
"I don't know. Do you want me not to?"   
Krycek shrugged. "I don't care. It's just kind of weird, knowing she knows."   
"She's not going to tell anyone, if that's what you're afraid of."   
"I didn't think she would. She'd be hurting you as much as me."   
"She doesn't want to hurt you, either. She likes you."   
"Did she say that?"   
"She said you were smart and funny and interesting and... oh yeah, something about eyelashes from hell."   
Krycek couldn't help grinning. "Maybe it's Scully I should be going after... ?"   
"Not if you want to live through the night." Mulder's smile had a touch of coldness in it.   
Krycek's reply was quick. "Mulder, you know I'm just kidding. There's nobody but you."   
Mulder smiled reassuringly and gave him a one-handed hug that left pizza grease on his shoulder. They ate a while in companionable silence. _So, he doesn't want me messing around with Scully. But is he jealous of me, or of her? Would he care if it was anybody else I'd joked about?_ Krycek picked up the last piece of pizza and chewed thoughtfully for a moment before speaking.   
"You know, I still can't help wondering why you're here."   
Mulder looked at him questioningly.   
"You know what I mean. A couple of weeks ago, you didn't want anything to do with me. I know you don't love me. You'll probably never really be able to forget about what happened. I don't think I'm your usual type. So why?"   
"It's been a long time...." he said quietly. "I gave up on trying to have relationships with women a long time ago. They all expected... to have a relationship." He gave a short, sad laugh. "I didn't have time. My work came first. But then you said your work came first with you, too. You didn't want anything to interfere with that. I like that. And I like the way you want me. I guess... you're crazy about me, and you don't ask for much. Kind of makes me sound like a jerk, doesn't it?"   
"Sounds great to me, Mulder." And it did. It was something plain and simple; something he could understand. It told him right where he stood, and it told him that he could go on having this, as long as he didn't make too many demands. That was fine with him. He finished his pizza, perfectly content.   
Mulder finished his, too, and began to lick his fingers. Krycek took Mulder's hand and pulled it to his mouth, and began licking and sucking the fingers, one by one. They tasted like pizza and sweat and Mulder. Delicious.   
Mulder giggled. "I think you have a hand fetish."   
"I have a Mulder fetish," Krycek corrected, between fingers. "I'll suck any part of you I can get in my mouth."   
"I can think of another part I'd like sucked."   
Krycek grinned up at him, releasing his hand and sliding down the bed, kicking the empty pizza box off the end of the bed. He ignored it. Hooking one knee over Mulder's leg, he eased himself between those strong, lean swimmer's thighs. Mulder was already hard. Krycek massaged the thighs, stroking with his thumbs, working his way closer to warm, heavy balls and hard cock. He cupped Mulder's balls in both hands as he took the head of the cock into his mouth, fluttering his tongue over the tip, causing Mulder to groan and lift his hips.   
Mulder was still sitting up, leaning back against the wall on a couple of pillows, as he had been while they were eating. He drew up his knees slightly and took Krycek by the shoulders, thumbs digging into the hollows beneath the collarbones. Krycek stroked the base of the cock with his hand, sucking and working as much as he could into his mouth, prepared to take him all the way like this. His own cock throbbed, but he didn't concern himself with that just now. He'd settle for a hand job after Mulder was satisfied, if the less-experienced man wasn't ready to blow him. Right now he just wanted Mulder to come in his mouth.   
But Mulder, it seemed, had other ideas. He tugged at Krycek's shoulders, urging him up for a pizza-flavored kiss, then took Krycek by the upper arm, pushing him to the side.   
"Lie across my lap," Mulder instructed, his voice low and husky.   
Krycek obeyed, willingly enough, but curious about what Mulder had in mind. He turned over and lay on his stomach across Mulder's lap, squirming his cock into the crevice between Mulder's thighs, his bottom propped up and vulnerable to whatever Mulder wanted to do.   
If he didn't know better, he'd think he was about to get spanked.   
Did he know better?   
Mulder's hand stroked his buttocks, fingers trailing lightly up the crack, probing gently, tickling his anus with a flickering touch. Krycek squirmed in pleasure.   
Then Mulder's hand lifted, and came down hard on his bottom, stinging, sending sharp tendrils of pain and hot delight through him, making him gasp and jerk. His cock throbbed, instantly rock-hard.   
"Like that?" Mulder asked, his voice a soft growl. His hand stroked the hot, tender print it had left.   
_Oh god, Mulder, you've got a sweet little kinky streak—I should have known, the way you like to control...._ But he certainly hadn't expected to be introduced to it this early in their relationship. Inexperienced, like hell. It seemed Mulder had a few things to teach him, as well. "Yeah," he managed to answer. "Oh, yeah."   
Three more sharp slaps came in rapid succession. He gripped the mattress and gritted his teeth, bucking and thrusting his cock between Mulder's flexing thighs, as Mulder's own rigid cock jabbed into his pelvis. He could feel his buttocks inflame under the blows; the heat streaked through him, hitting nerve endings he didn't know he had.   
Mulder stroked his bottom again, briefly; the respite only allowing the pain to develop and grow before the spanking was resumed. These were no friendly little pats—Mulder was hitting him hard, bringing tears to his eyes with each strike. Soon he was sobbing helplessly, overwhelmed by the sensations as Mulder alternately stroked and spanked his tormented buttocks. Yes, he wanted it. It was glorious being taken like this—dominated and controlled and driven to helpless ecstasy—it was the only thing that could stop his churning mind, quell his self-doubt, empty him of everything but steaming passion. He'd never have dared to ask Mulder to do this, even if he'd known it was exactly what he wanted Mulder to do—but he loved it.   
Then Mulder took his hand away. As he lay gasping and choking for breath, Krycek felt Mulder reaching out to get something from the nightstand, and after a short pause, felt slick, wet fingers slide between his burning cheeks and enter his throbbing anus. A shuddering moan burst from his throat as Mulder massaged his prostate. Tears still dripped from his eyes. With two fingers, Mulder fucked him. His hips jerked uncontrollably in response. Dizzily, his mind went blank, and he knew only what he felt.   
The fingers withdrew and the spanking continued. Now the slaps were interspersed with brief sessions of penetration. Krycek writhed and sobbed and stroked his cock in the sweat-slick crevice between Mulder's thighs. Gradually, the blows decreased in frequency and intensity and the finger-fucking lengthened and deepened. Finally, the spanking ceased, and the fingers thrusting into him assumed a rhythm he could follow to bring himself towards climax. He came, lying across Mulder's lap with the other man's fingers up his ass, his buttocks sore and burning, screaming and crying as his cock spurted its seed into the space between Mulder's legs.   
_Oh god, Mulder, what are you doing to me? Every time I think you can't destroy me any more, you find a new way to smash me to pieces. Please, please don't ever stop...._ He lay limp and panting, waiting for the spasms to subside. Mulder slowed the strokes of his fingers, finally sliding them out of Krycek's body. His stiff cock still poked at Krycek's side, reminding him. Yes, there was something Krycek had to finish.   
Groaning, he dragged himself off of Mulder's lap and crawled back between the other man's legs to take the hard member into his mouth. Mulder was hot and ready; the spanking had excited him as much as it had its recipient. He curled his fingers in Krycek's hair and thrust forcefully into his mouth. Krycek barely had time to suck him wet before semen was jetting into his throat. He shut his eyes and swallowed.   
He'd have been content to lie with his head on Mulder's hip, cuddling the wilting cock next to his face. But Mulder was tugging at his hair and shoulder again. He pushed himself out of the warm haven between Mulder's legs reluctantly, and waited while Mulder scooted down to lie flat, then pulled Krycek into his arms. Of course, his back must be killing him after sitting pressed against the wall like that for so long. And Krycek's buttocks burned and throbbed. _The things we do for great sex...._ Of course, it was worth every last little twinge. He kissed Mulder, ignoring the slight hesitation that came when Mulder tasted his own semen in Krycek's mouth. He thrust his tongue in deeply, probing Mulder's mouth until the other man relaxed and returned the kiss. _I don't blow anybody who won't kiss me after,_ Krycek warned silently. _If I can take it in my mouth, you can take it in yours._ But Mulder wasn't hesitating any longer—in fact, he was getting into it, sucking and licking with abandon. _We'll have you giving blow jobs yet,_ Krycek thought, sighing as the kiss ended. He lay his head on Mulder's shoulder happily.   
"You okay?" Mulder asked softly.   
"Mm. More than okay."   
Mulder chuckled. "I thought you might like that."   
"Like it? God, Mulder, that was incredible. I didn't know you had it in you."   
"I didn't either. You seem to bring out... the animal in me."   
"Lucky me."   
Mulder reached out and found the Coke bottle where it had been jammed in the corner. He uncapped it and took a long swig, then handed the bottle to Krycek, who had to let go of Mulder briefly, shifting onto his side to take the bottle and finish it in one long draught. He tossed the empty bottle over his shoulder into the floor. Mulder chuckled again as Krycek snuggled back into position, arm tightly wrapped around his lover's chest. _I might let go of you some day,_ he thought drowsily, _but not tonight._ Then he drifted to sleep. 

* * *

The cellular phone shrilled in his ear. Swearing, Krycek disentangled himself from the warm body next to him and fumbled for the phone on the nightstand.   
"Yeah? Krycek," he muttered into the phone.   
There was a moment's silence. Then, "Krycek? What are you... ?" It was Scully.   
"Shit." No wonder the phone hadn't felt quite right. He dropped it onto Mulder, now awake beside him. "It's your phone, Mulder, it's Scully, I'm sorry...." Without waiting for a response, he levered himself out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom.   
He almost jumped back up when he lowered his tender bottom onto the cold toilet seat. _Serves you right,_ he told himself. _You are an idiot._ Of course it was Mulder's phone—he'd left it on the nightstand after he ordered the pizza. Krycek's own phone was... somewhere—in his coat pocket probably, or buried under the magazines in the front room. No one called him in the middle of the night any more, not since he'd quit working for the Smoking Man. Thank god it was Scully, not Skinner or someone like that who'd called. Now he didn't have to worry about whether Mulder would tell her—he'd told her himself, answering Mulder's cellular at... whatever the hell time it was in the morning. Mulder'd be furious, and he had every right to be.   
He was tempted to stay in the bathroom all night. But he'd better go out and face the music. First, he'd clean himself up a little bit. He washed his hands and face, and brushed his teeth, quickly, before stepping out into the hall—where he met Mulder, waiting for his turn in the bathroom.   
"There's been another death, preceded by that same noise," Mulder told him. "I'm meeting Scully there. Hurry up and get dressed if you want to go." Then he went into the bathroom and closed the door.   
_If you want to go?_ "Okay," he said to the bathroom door. Then he hurried to get himself dressed. God, he needed a shower. But there wasn't time. Thankfully, he had clean underwear. One clean dress shirt—he'd definitely have to do laundry tomorrow. Red tie and grey suit. Nowhere near as good-looking as Mulder's grey suit. He fingered the fabric of Mulder's suit enviously. Mulder was thinner than he was, and taller. But not by much. He wondered if Mulder's clothes would fit? Maybe someday he'd find out. But not tonight.   
"It won't fit you." Mulder's comment, echoing his own thoughts, made him jump back, pulling his hand away from the suit. He turned and glared at Mulder, who stood grinning at him, naked and gorgeous. "I borrowed your toothbrush, I hope you don't mind."   
"No, of course not. Mulder, I'm sorry." He sat on the edge of the bed, watching Mulder get dressed. "I didn't mean to answer your phone."   
"Don't worry about it. It was my fault for leaving it on the nightstand like that. Next time, I'll put it back in my pocket."   
"Next time?" Krycek grinned at him.   
"You know what I mean."   
"Yeah, you mean next time you spend the night you'll leave your cellular somewhere I won't be able to grab it by mistake. Perfectly clear. Hey, I hope Scully wasn't too shocked."   
Mulder chuckled. "Not as shocked as you were."   
"I'm just glad it wasn't Skinner or someone like that."   
Mulder stared at him, his smile slowly fading. Obviously he hadn't really considered what might have happened if the wrong person had been on the other end of the phone. "That... would not have been good, would it?"   
"What do you think Skinner would do if he found out?"   
Mulder shook his head. "I don't know. I don't want to know."   
"We'll be more careful from now on." Krycek was suddenly afraid. Was Mulder now rethinking the danger to his career?   
Mulder finished tying his tie. "Come on, let's go." His expression was inscrutable. All right, let him think it over. There was danger in their being together, and if Mulder decided he didn't want to risk it, that was up to him. He was still willing to take Krycek along on his case, anyway.   
Krycek was going to get in on this X-File after all. 

* * *

There was only one body this time. Other than that, the situation was very similar to yesterday's. The man, identified as Don Kincaid, a businessman of dubious legality, lay crumpled on the floor of his second-floor apartment. The body's eyes stared wildly, but there were no signs of struggle or external trauma. Neighbors claimed to have heard a sound variously described as a siren, electronic feedback, and a woman's scream. One said he thought it was some sort of car alarm. No one saw anyone enter or leave the dead man's apartment.   
Scully, already on the scene, had greeted them both brusquely, with only the slightest lift of that expressive eyebrow in Krycek's direction to indicate that there was anything at all unusual in finding Mulder at his apartment in the middle of the night, or in Krycek tagging along on Mulder's case. Krycek nodded back to her and pulled out his notepad. He had no intention of exchanging sly looks with her or sidling suggestively up to Mulder or anything like that. He was here to work.   
Mulder immediately went to Scully's side, letting her fill him in on the details she'd already gathered. Like a well-oiled machine they fell into their routine—wasting not a word, communicating in half-sentences and meaningful looks. Krycek stepped back with a sigh, trying not to feel excluded. Let them get on with it. He looked around for something to do to make himself useful.   
A small, wizened face peered in from the hallway, darted looks all around, then disappeared. Curious, Krycek followed her out into the hall. A small form in a cotton print dress and shawl was hurrying away.   
"Excuse me, Ma'am," he called softly.   
The figure turned and stared at him with bright blue eyes. With a shock, he realized that she reminded him of his mother, with several decades added. He pulled out his FBI badge and showed it to her.   
"I'm Special Agent Alex Krycek, Ma'am. May I talk to you for a few moments?"   
"And what's so special about you, then?" Her mouth was grim, but there was a twinkle in her eye. He voice had a lilt that spoke of barrowlands and borderlands.   
He smiled at her. "Not so much yet, Ma'am, but I'm working on it. Do you live here?"   
"Apartment Two-oh-six, lad. I'm Margaret Murphy."   
"Mrs. Murphy, did you see or hear anything unusual this evening?"   
"That's Miss Murphy, lad, I never married."   
"Sorry, Miss Murphy. If I'd been around about thirty years ago, I might have done something about that."   
Her laugh was bright and clear. "If you think flirting with old ladies is going to get you anywhere, young man, you're probably right. You've got a bit of the Blarney about you—what did you say your name was?"   
"Krycek. Alex Krycek. My mother was Molly O'Connor."   
She smiled and nodded. "O'Connor, is it? Bit of black Irish. That's where you get those eyelashes."   
He grinned. "Yes, Ma'am. Now, about this evening?"   
"Aye, I heard it. Call of the banshee."   
"Is that what it sounded like?" Suddenly he realized—she hadn't said it sounded like a banshee. She said it was a banshee. And the way she was saying it.... "What makes you think it was Baen Sidhe?" He tried to add the lilts and accents to pronounce it as his mother had taught him.   
Margaret Murphy look at him approvingly. "Heard her call once before, back home, the night my mother died. There's no mistaking her wail."   
"But I thought... the Baen Sidhe announce death, but they don't cause it."   
She shrugged. "Aye, lad. But times change. The barrows fall."   
"What would one of the Sidhe be doing in Washington, D.C.?"   
She frowned thoughtfully. "Trying to get home, I expect."   
"And how would she do that?"   
"Well, lad, I suppose that would depend on how she got here."   
"I know the Sidhe were sorcerers, but...."   
Her eyes suddenly went cold. He stopped speaking, aware of someone at his shoulder. He knew who it was before he turned to look. "Mulder. This is Margaret Murphy...."   
But Miss Murphy was no longer standing there. She'd turned and scurried away down the hall, and was disappearing behind the door of her apartment before Krycek could find his tongue again.   
"Who was that?" Mulder asked. There was an amused expression on his face.   
"One of the neighbors. I wonder why she ran off like that?"   
"I guess she didn't like my looks. Did she say anything?"   
Krycek shrugged. "Said it sounded like a banshee."   
Mulder laughed softly. "Well, that's more original than a car alarm." He patted Krycek's shoulder and turned to go back to the crime scene.   
He should have told Mulder the truth. Well, it wasn't a lie, exactly. But he didn't make it clear that she really believed it was a Sidhe. Mulder was the one person who would take something like that seriously. He'd probably want to investigate it. Krycek should have made sure Mulder understood.   
But Mulder could have pursued it. He could have asked whether Krycek thought she'd really meant it. Instead, he brushed it off, like nothing the rookie agent learned could possibly be of interest. Well, let him think so. Krycek would just keep that information to himself for now. Do a little poking around on his own. If anything came of it, he'd let Mulder know.   
He went back to the apartment where Kincaid had died. O'Donnell, McCarthy, Kincaid... there was a definite Irish connection here. Could the Sidhe have come here after them for some reason? But then, why would she have killed Kincaid and the others? Was it some kind of vendetta? The barrows fall, Miss Murphy had said. For centuries, the Sidhe had slumbered under the hills of Ireland, after their race was conquered by the invading Milesians. What would one do if his or her barrow was destroyed? The most famous barrows, Krycek knew, were sacred places that would never be harmed. But there must have been many others; unknown hills, inhabited by lesser sorcerers. Ireland was susceptible to the advantages and ills of progress, like all modern countries.   
He needed to know more about Kincaid's activities. He stepped up behind Mulder's shoulder. "Mulder, have you found a connection between Kincaid and McCarthy or O'Donnell?"   
"Not yet. He was probably in on the check fraud scheme, but there's no solid evidence of it yet."   
"Can I see your files on McCarthy and the others?"   
Mulder regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. _Regretting asking me along?_ Krycek wondered. He apparently hadn't intended for Krycek to become actively involved in the case. "All right. I'll have copies made for you. When we get back to headquarters."   
Headquarters. Krycek looked at his watch. "Damn. I've got to be in Skinner's office in less than an hour." There was no time to go back home and shower. He hadn't even shaved. He ran his hand through his hair. It was tangled and dirty. "What do you think, Mulder? Will he be less disgusted if I show up dirty and unshaven, or if I show up late?"   
"Better not be late. You can explain to him that you were assisting me on a case."   
"Without proper authorization? That will just make him madder."   
"Sorry, Alex. I didn't mean to get you into trouble."   
"No, it's my fault. I should have been watching the time better." _I should have stayed home in bed, is what I really should have done._ "I'll catch a cab. Don't forget about those files. I'll call you later." He waved a quick goodbye to Scully and turned to go.   
Mulder caught him by the arm. "Do you have money for the cab?"   
Krycek swore again, blushing furiously. Possibly he could cover the cab ride, but it would clean out his meager supply of cash. Payday was still days away.   
Taking his reaction for an answer, Mulder pulled out his wallet and handed the mortified agent a couple of twenties. "You can pay me back after you get paid," Mulder told him gently. Unable to look Mulder in the eye, Krycek nodded, gripped the bills and hurried away. 

* * *

He was in for one piece of good luck—one of the night-shift agents still at work when Krycek arrived kept an electric razor in his desk, which Krycek was able to borrow before his meeting. He shaved quickly, splashed cold water on his face, smoothed his hair, and managed to show up looking slightly more like an FBI agent than a skid-row bum. Then his worst problem was trying not to yawn in Skinner's face while he received his next assignment. More surveillance - midnight-to-six shift this time.   
"Agent Krycek, I know this work isn't as exciting as, say, working on an X-File—but it's important work." Skinner's mouth was a tight line of disapproval.   
"Yes, sir." Krycek shifted in his chair, wincing slightly, and tried to look attentive.   
Skinner's glowering gaze burned through him. But finally, the assistant director nodded slightly and returned his attention to the papers on his desk, signalling that the meeting was over. Relieved, Krycek got up and left the office. 

* * *

If he had any sense, he would just go home now—forget about mysterious deaths and shrieking noises and banshees, get some sleep and be ready to go back on shift at midnight. But the case tugged at him and would not let him go. He remembered his mother telling him tales of ancient Ireland when he was a child. He loved to hear about the Tuatha De Danann, the mystical race of wizards and warriors who had ruled Ireland for two centuries, until the Milesians invaded and defeated them. They'd agreed to split the land in two - the Milesians above, and the Tuatha below. The Tuatha then became known as the Sidhe—the people of the hill—and lived beneath the barrows in a magical world, where they remain till this day. While other children were playing cowboys and Indians, Krycek had played Tuatha and Milesian, calling himself Lug or Nuada of the Silver Hand, making magic swords from cardboard and tinfoil, and raiding his mother's jewelry box for talismans with which to cast spells. If there truly was a Baen Sidhe—a woman of the hill—loose in Washington, D.C., he had to know, and he had to be involved.   
He made his way down to Mulder's basement office, thinking he would just pick up the files Mulder had promised him and take them home to study. But the office was empty. He stood just inside the door, staring at Mulder's desk thoughtfully. Mulder had told him he could look at the files. He could just save Mulder the effort and copy them himself. He went over to the desk and started thumbing through the files there. McCarthy—there was nothing new there. Bloodworth—an ordinary Chicago hood. Nothing. He sat at Mulder's desk and rubbed his temples with his fingers. He was so tired. He should just go home now.   
The office door opened, and a woman with an FBI ID clipped to her blouse stepped in. "Agent Mulder? I have the file you requested."   
"No, I... is that the Kincaid file?"   
"Yes."   
"Okay, I'll take it. Thanks."   
Well, he hadn't lied—exactly. And Mulder had told him he could look at the files. No doubt he hadn't meant that Krycek could read it before he did, but he wasn't here and Krycek was and so was the file. He'd just glance through it, see if there was anything interesting in it.   
Assorted arrests, a few convictions—money laundering, extortion, fraud, drug dealing. Here was something very interesting—Kincaid had just gotten back from a trip to Ireland less than a week ago. His primary legal business was an international real estate development corporation—Green Isle Properties.   
International real estate. Ireland? There were no details in the file. He picked up Mulder's phone, and went to work. 

* * *

Half an hour later, he was on the Metro—having counted the money Mulder had lent him, and deciding he'd better not spend any more on cabs, especially since he was on his own and not likely to be reimbursed for this—heading toward Foggy Bottom and the offices of Green Isle Properties. Green Isle's most recent development deal was an industrial park in Ireland near Galway. Groundbreaking had begun the day before Kincaid had left Ireland. O'Donnell and McCarthy were investors—no doubt a way to launder dirty money. So, suppose that groundbreaking had disturbed the barrow of a Baen Sidhe. Cast back into the above-ground world after so many centuries, the angry Sidhe had followed Kincaid to Washington, D.C. to wreak vengeance on him and the men he worked with.   
Krycek reached under his coat and fingered his cellular phone. He should call Mulder and tell him about this. For all he knew, Mulder had already discovered the Green Isle connection and investigated, and he was just wasting his time. But maybe he hadn't. If he was concentrating on the check fraud scheme, it might not have occurred to him to look into the real estate business yet. Anyway, the whole thing was just a lot of wild supposition and speculation. He'd check out Green Isle's office himself first. If anything turned up, then he'd call Mulder. 

* * *

It was a fifteen minute walk from the Metro station to Green Isle's address. The morning was already growing warm. Krycek was glad he hadn't bothered to go home and shower before coming on this little expedition—he'd have just gotten sweaty again. He loosened his tie and kept going.   
The address was on a small side street. The front window of the office was dark. He stepped up to the doorway and reached for the doorknob.   
The door swung in, before he had a chance to turn the knob. It hung loose on its hinges, the latch sprung. Krycek unholstered his gun and pushed the door the rest of the way open, peering in cautiously.   
"Hello? Is anyone here?"   
No response. The room was empty. With his gun in front of him, he stepped into the office. There were no other obvious signs of a break-in—no file cabinet drawers open, no papers scattered about. The phone was still on the hook. But someone had been here who didn't belong.   
Now he should call Mulder. Kincaid's office had been broken into. Mulder would definitely want to know about this.   
But maybe he'd just look around a little more first. Check out the back room. He opened the interior door and stepped into what appeared to be a storage room. There were stacks of banker's boxes along one wall, storage cabinets in the back, an old desk and a ratty couch on the other wall. This room didn't look disturbed either. He prowled the length and width of the room, looking for anything of interest. He lifted the lid of one of the banker's boxes and sneezed. There was nothing here but dust.   
The door slammed shut behind him, plunging the room into total darkness. Krycek whirled towards the door, hitting his knee on the desk. He couldn't see a thing. Swearing, he felt his way along the wall to the door. It was locked.   
"Damn." He slammed his palm against the door. This was no door swinging shut in the wind—someone had locked him in. The door was heavy, probably metal-core. There would be no breaking it down. He could shoot his way out - maybe, but he couldn't aim in the dark, and who knew what he'd end up actually shooting. Or what was outside the door waiting for him. He turned and leaned back against the door. Now he'd call Mulder. He pulled out his phone and laboriously punched out Mulder's cellular number by touch.   
"Mulder."   
"Mulder, I'm at Kincaid's office in Foggy Bottom. Green Isle Properties. The front door was broken in, and somebody just locked me into the back room."   
There was a moment's silence. "Alex, what the hell... ?" Mulder sighed audibly. "All right, I'll be right there. I guess I don't have to tell you to stay put."   
"Ha ha. Hurry, okay? It's dark in here."   
He put the phone back in his pocket and felt his way to the couch to sit down and wait for Mulder.   
There was a shimmer in the air by the door. Krycek pushed himself to his feet and stared with his mouth open as the shimmer resolved itself into a tall, strikingly beautiful woman with long silver hair and the bluest blue eyes he'd ever seen. She was wearing a flowing gown of silvery-grey velvet, and her pale skin was translucent as fine porcelain. The room was faintly lit by her glow. She was the most beautiful thing Krycek had ever seen. And the coldest.   
She took one step toward him. Krycek backed up, until he ran into the cabinets behind him. His heart pounded wildly. She was magnificent and powerful, and she was going to kill him. "Please...." he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm not one of them. I haven't hurt you."   
She took another step toward him. He pulled out his gun and pointed it at her, without much hope that it would do any good. She cocked her head slightly, looking at the gun as if wondering what it was. Then she stretched out her hand and the gun fell from his grip to the floor. His hand tingled. "Please," he begged. "I don't want to hurt you. I'm not your enemy, I'm a federal agent. I'll help you if you let me. If I can. Please."   
She didn't appear to hear him. She took one more step. Then she opened her mouth, and began to moan. At first it was just the faintest tone, pure and clear and quiet. But gradually it became louder, more piercing. Krycek jammed the heels of his hands over his ears. He'd heard this sound before, only much, much louder, and his stomach was already churning over the anticipated pain. "Please...." he whispered, sinking slowly to the floor, pressing his hands as tightly as he could over his tortured ears.   
The moan increased to a wail, bleeding through his hands into his ears, right into his brain, painfully loud now, but still a single clear tone, far from human. He began to hum to himself, trying to block out the sound. At first it was just nonsense noise, but then it gradually turned into a song his mother used to sing to him when he was afraid. It was a Gaelic song—he hardly knew what the words meant, but they reminded him of home and safety and helped keep the terror as well as the Baen Sidhe's wail at bay. He sang, tears streaming down his face, waiting for the Sidhe's voice to destroy him.   
He was not sure how long it was before he realized that her wail had quieted, and was no longer piercing his head with pain. She was singing along with him. Slowly he lowered his hands from his ears, continuing to sing in a wavering voice. Her singing was strong and clear and so achingly sweet he continued to weep until the song ended and she fell silent. Then he sat and stared at her in wonder. He was in the presence of a magical being, who could kill with a sound, and she had decided instead to sing with him.   
She said something to him in Gaelic. He shook his head regretfully. "I don't understand. I only know the song."   
She nodded. "So quickly the old ways are forgotten." She spoke as she sang - with sweetness and strength.   
"That's what happened to them, I'm sure. Kincaid and the others—they didn't know about the barrows. They had no idea they were destroying your home."   
"And what about you, little human? Why have you come here?"   
"I was investigating the deaths. You—you've got to stop killing now. They didn't know what they were doing."   
"And what will you do, little human? Put me in your jail?"   
Krycek swallowed. Arrest a Sidhe? What nonsense. He began to understand the trouble Mulder had writing up his cases. "What would be the point? You walk through walls."   
"So I do." Her face grew suddenly sad; so sad it broke Krycek's heart. "There will be no more deaths. Except mine."   
"Yours? You can't die. Can't you just go home? Find another barrow?"   
"Shall I go rooting about the countryside like a boar? Until another ignorant human comes along to dig me up?"   
He shrugged helplessly. She was too beautiful; she couldn't die. "What about Avalon? Why don't you go there?" Legend had it that some of the Tuatha De Danann went to live on the fabled island paradise of Avalon, instead of going beneath the hills.   
She smiled sadly. "I don't know where it is. Even we forget."   
"But there must be somewhere you can go...."   
"Times change. All things come to an end. I no longer have a place in this world, or the other. I'll seek a new one." She stepped closer to him, and reached out her perfect white hand to brush her fingertips against his face. He shivered at her touch, like ice. "But I thank you for the song, little human. I was already centuries old when I first heard it, but still it reminds me of other days."   
He nodded. He'd sung with a Sidhe. He'd like to tell his mother, but she wouldn't believe him. Perhaps Miss Murphy would.   
"Shall I give you a gift before I go?" she asked.   
The legends were full of warnings against accepting gifts from fairy folk. Some of the fair ones were truly spiteful; some merely didn't understand how their gifts could affect mortals. "You already have," he answered her. And it was true.   
She laughed—a tinkling sound of summer wind in crystal chimes. Then she touched his face again, one delicate finger tracing the tracks of wetness on his face. "Farewell, then."   
She stepped back and began to shimmer again. Her glow increased. He barely noticed the door behind her open, and sunlight streaming into the room as Mulder and Scully stood in the doorway, guns pointed at the apparition. The Sidhe laughed again, then began to wail; a pure, clear tone that increased just to the point of pain to human ears before both it and the glowing woman faded from the room.   
Mulder and Scully stood still for a moment. Then Scully rushed to kneel at Krycek's side, gentle hands feeling for his pulse and brushing the hair from his eyes. "Krycek, are you all right?"   
"Yes." He started to struggle to his feet. Scully took his arm and helped him to stand.   
Mulder walked over to them, holstering his gun. "What was that?"   
"A Baen Sidhe. One of Kincaid's development projects destroyed her barrow, so she followed him here for vengeance."   
"A banshee?" Mulder asked. Then the light began to dawn. "That woman this morning. She told you it was a banshee." He did not look pleased.   
"Yes—I had an idea what might have happened. I decided to check it out."   
"Without telling me," Mulder said flatly.   
Oh, he was going to be angry. Krycek sighed. "It was just an idea. I wanted to get something solid before I bothered you with it."   
Mulder frowned and bit his lip. "All right. Let's get back to headquarters and get this sorted out."   
Krycek nodded, exchanged a rueful smile with Scully, and prepared to go back and face the music. 

* * *

Mulder herded Krycek into his office as though he were a skittish and exasperating colt Mulder was training. Krycek was reminded uncomfortably of the spanking he'd gotten last night—he had a feeling Mulder would like to administer one for real right now.   
Mulder pushed him into a chair. "All right. Let's start with this morning. Obviously, that woman told you it was really a banshee she heard. Why didn't you tell me that?"   
He squirmed uneasily. "I did, Mulder, you just didn't...."   
"Don't, Krycek." He held up a warning finger. "You know damned well you made it sound like she was just using it as a figure of speech."   
_So I'm "Krycek" again,_ he thought miserably. He'd really blown it this time. "I was tired, I wasn't thinking...."   
Mulder's mouth tightened. No, that wasn't going to work. "I just wanted to check into it a little before I told you."   
Mulder paced in front of him. He looked across at Scully, standing by the door with her arms folded, beseeching a little sympathy from her. She stared back inscrutably. She wasn't livid, like Mulder was, but she was going to give him nothing. He sighed and turned back to Mulder.   
"So you were going to look into it. What then?"   
"After my meeting with Skinner, I came back down here. I wanted to get those files you promised me. But you weren't back yet. So...." He paused and swallowed. "I just thought I'd take a little look at them."   
Mulder stopped pacing. He'd gone past livid, to blank fury. "You came in here and went through my files."   
"Well, you said I could see them. I didn't think...."   
"I said I'd make you copies. I didn't say you could come in here while I was gone and rifle through my desk."   
There was no hope. He might as well just get through his story and get it over with. "I saw that Kincaid owned Green Isle Properties. And that he'd just come back from Ireland. So I thought maybe he'd done something in Ireland to make the Sidhe angry. I checked and found out he'd just started groundbreaking on a development project in Galway."   
"And how would that make the Sidhe angry?" Mulder had softened slightly, his fascination with the case mitigating his fury.   
"The Sidhe live under the hills, or barrows, in Ireland. The groundbreaking destroyed her barrow."   
"So you had evidence, and a working theory. Why didn't you call me then?"   
_Evidence?_ He looked at Scully helplessly. The corner of her mouth twitched slightly. "Mulder, it was just speculation. I didn't have anything solid. I decided to go to Green Isle first and check it out. Then I'd call you."   
"Why would the... Sidhe come here? Why wouldn't she just kill him in Ireland?"   
"She wanted to get the other men who were part of Green Isle as well. McCarthy and O'Donnell were both investors in the Galway project."   
"You found a connection between McCarthy and O'Donnell and Kincaid? That was evidence." Mulder was grim again.   
"I was going to call you as soon as I'd checked out Green Isle," he repeated. "Then when I got there, I saw that the front door had been broken in." He steeled himself for another outburst.   
"But you thought you'd just check around a little first before you called me," Mulder mocked harshly.   
"Yeah," Krycek answered quietly. "Nothing inside looked disturbed. I went into the back room. That's when the door slammed shut and I was locked in."   
_"Then_ you called me."   
Krycek just nodded.   
Mulder paced. It was Scully who asked, "What happened in the back room?"   
"The Baen Sidhe came. You saw her. She was angry at first—she started to wail. I was sure she was going to kill me."   
"Why didn't she?"   
"I don't know." Should he give Mulder the whole thing? He really didn't want to share what had happened between him and the Sidhe. But he supposed he owed it to Mulder. "I started singing a Gaelic song I knew. I was really just trying to block the sound out of my ears. But she liked it. She stopped wailing and sang along with me."   
Mulder stared at him. "You know Gaelic?"   
"Just a few songs. My mother's Irish, she taught me all the Celtic legends."   
Mulder exchanged an incredulous look with Scully. "And the song stopped the Sidhe from killing you?"   
Krycek shrugged. "I don't know. I think she was just tired of killing. She knew I wasn't one of Kincaid's men. She just didn't know what else to do."   
"Where did she go?" Mulder asked.   
"She's gone, Mulder. Out of the world."   
"What, back... under the hills?"   
"No, not there. Somewhere else, if there is anywhere else. Nowhere, if there isn't. She said her time was over."   
Mulder sighed. "I wish I'd had the chance to talk to her." An accusing told told Krycek that he would have had the chance, if the other agent hadn't interfered.   
Krycek stared at the floor. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I screwed up. It won't happen again."   
Mulder frowned, thinking. His fury had abated a little, but he was still angry. "All right, look. You write it up just as you told me, and I'll include your report with mine."   
"Skinner's going to be furious...." Krycek's voice was pained.   
Mulder just looked at him, mouth set in a firm line.   
"Mulder, couldn't you just leave me out of it?"   
"I'm not going to lie in my report. You're going to have to tell the truth for a change, and deal with it."   
"I could get kicked out for this," he said miserably.   
Mulder just stared.   
Krycek sighed. There was only going to be one way out of this. "All right." 

* * *

It took him forty-five minutes to write up his report of the day's events. He sat at Scully's desk and used her terminal, while she pulled up a chair beside Mulder to help him write their half of the case report. He struggled for a while with how to start—how to explain what he was doing at the crime scene to begin with. Truth was all well and good, but he wasn't going to write that he just happened to be lying beside Mulder when the call came that morning. He settled for "At Agent Mulder's request, I accompanied him to the crime scene...." How and where that request was made, he'd leave to Skinner's imagination. From there on, it was a straightforward recitation of events, raiding the files on Mulder's desk and all.   
He printed the report, signed it, and handed it over to Mulder. Mulder read through it, nodded, then instructed Krycek to stay put while he went to report to Skinner. "I'm sure he's going to want to talk to you as soon as he's done with me." 

* * *

After Mulder had gone, Krycek offered a tentative smile to Scully. "He's pretty mad."   
Scully pressed her lips together and nodded. "Yes."   
"What about you?"   
"Me?" Her eyebrow lifted curiously.   
"Well, it was your case too. Are you mad at me for screwing it up?"   
She smiled faintly. "You didn't screw it up. You solved it."   
"Well." He shrugged.   
There was a pause as those blue eyes regarded him. "I'm wondering how you ever got through the Academy's ethics course."   
He laughed sickly. "I'm not that bad, Scully, really. I just tend to... go overboard sometimes. Anyway, I'm sorry."   
She nodded. "Apology accepted."   
"I wish it were that easy with Mulder."   
"No you don't." She smiled. "It's hard with him because he cares so much."   
"And I just keep screwing it up."   
"That's something you'd better give some serious thought to, don't you think?"   
He stared back at her. She cut right to the chase, didn't she? With that calm, non-judgmental tone that made you sit up and listen. Made you feel like an idiot, spinning your wheels when the right thing to do was so obvious. Made you think she really cared about whether or not you worked things out with Mulder.   
He sighed. "Yeah. I guess I should. Except I'll probably get kicked out of the FBI for good this time, and Mulder will never want to see me again anyway."   
This time she smiled. "I don't think it's quite that bad. Solving other people's cases for them isn't exactly a major offense. And Mulder was supposed to have assigned you to the case anyway, if he'd ever gotten around to doing the paperwork."   
"He what?"   
"We needed someone from the surveillance team to bring us up to date on the background of the case. And since you were the one on the scene when the deaths occurred, you were the logical choice. It's standard procedure, Krycek. Mulder's not exactly famous for following the rules, himself."   
Krycek opened his mouth and closed it several times, then gave up and laughed shortly, running his hand over his hair.   
Scully smiled. "Don't ever tell him I said this, but I think you and he are actually a lot alike."   
"Which probably just means we'll be at each other's throats most of the time." _When we're not in each other's pants...._   
"Probably." The sparkle in her blue eyes told him she knew exactly what he was thinking.   
He flushed. But it could be a lot worse, couldn't it? Mulder could have some uptight straight guy for a partner who'd have blown a fuse if he'd called Mulder in the middle of the night and a half-asleep Krycek had answered the phone. "Scully... I think I'm glad you're Mulder's partner."   
She seemed genuinely surprised. A pleased smile spread across her face. "I'm glad you think so."   
"I owe you lunch after I get paid." _It might be the one-and-only paycheck I get._   
She nodded. "Maybe we could go to an opera sometime."   
"Sure. That would be great." _Yeah, great. Mulder hates me, and now I start dating Scully. Next thing you know, I'll be answering her phone in the middle of the night when Mulder calls. He'll kill me for sure._ He sighed and buried his face in his arms. On her desk. Well, if she wanted it back she could just ask him to move. He was exhausted and miserable and he needed a bath and he still had to face Skinner before he'd be allowed to go home and collapse. Then he was back on-shift at midnight—if he was lucky. If he wasn't, it was the unemployment line and hope his landlord would take pity on him and wait a while for the rent. Maybe Scully would take him in. 

* * *

When Mulder returned, there were red spots high on his cheeks, and a white line around his lips. He clenched his fists as he walked to his desk, and spoke without looking at Krycek. "He wants to see you now."   
Krycek stood uneasily, decided for once to let discretion be his guide, and left without speaking. 

* * *

Skinner glowered at him from across his desk. "Agent Krycek, I don't know what's going on between you and Agent Mulder, and I don't want to know. But you will leave your personal rivalries at home. I will not deal with them in my office again. Is that understood?"   
"Yes, sir." Krycek closed his eyes and swallowed. Well, if he was being warned not to do it again, that meant he'd be around to do it. Skinner was going to let him stay. He was going to make him grovel—that was all right, he'd lick Skinner's boots all day and all night—but he wasn't going to kick him out.   
"One Agent Mulder is enough for me to deal with. I think we'd both be happier if you went to some other field office. There's an opening in Los Angeles I think would be appropriate for you."   
Transfer? Oh, god, no. "Sir, please—I'd rather stay here." He stopped and took a deep breath. His eyes burned. Should he let himself cry? No, he didn't think Skinner would be swayed by tears. "I know I made a big mistake on this case. It won't happen again, I promise."   
"Agent Krycek, I'm sure you know that with your track record, your promises don't carry much weight."   
Begging wasn't going to work, either. "I only wanted to help. I know I went about it the wrong way, but...."   
"But you solved the case. Yes, I know." Skinner sat back, steepling his fingers, and sighed. "You do good work. I'd be happy to have an agent of your caliber on my team, if I thought I could depend on you."   
"I've made mistakes. But I really want to be the kind of agent you can be proud of." He put on his most sincere look.   
Skinner considered for a moment, then leaned forward and nodded. "All right. I suggest you go home and get some rest. You're on duty at midnight."   
He closed his eyes and sighed with relief. "Thank you, sir."   
He was at the door when Assistant Director Skinner spoke again. "Agent Krycek—don't make me regret this."   
Something in the tone sent a chill through him. He nodded, and practically ran out the door. 

* * *

Six hours of sleep and a long, hot shower later, Krycek felt ready to face the world again. Now, was he ready to face Mulder? Maybe he just ought to steer clear of Mulder for a few days. Concentrate on his new assignment, and let Mulder cool down a little. He prowled around his apartment. He really should spend a couple of hours cleaning the place up. The empty pizza box was still on the floor of the sleeping alcove, and there were spots of grease on the sheets. He still tripped over the pile of magazines in front of the couch whenever he walked past.   
But he was hungry, and there was no food in the place. He was going to have to go out anyway, he might as well stop by Mulder's, just to see how things were between them. 

* * *

"Hi, Mulder."   
With a disgusted groan, Mulder stepped aside to let him in, then stood glaring at him.   
"I guess you're still mad."   
"Yeah." Mulder shook his head. "I'll get over it. How did it go with Skinner?"   
"I've still got my badge—barely. He wanted to transfer me to Los Angeles. Said one Mulder was enough to deal with."   
He knew Mulder would not appreciate that. And he didn't. He put his hand to his forehead and frowned fiercely. "But you're still here."   
"Yeah. He yelled at you, too, huh?"   
Mulder nodded.   
"I really didn't mean to take over the case. I just thought I'd find something for you, to help you solve it."   
Mulder gave him a sour look. "I don't believe that for a minute. You wanted that case right from the start."   
"I wanted to work with you. You were the one who didn't want me involved."   
"I took you along this morning, didn't I?"   
"Yeah, but you wouldn't have, if I hadn't...." _Been lying beside you in bed when the call came._ Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to refer to last night's lovemaking. It wasn't likely to happen again. He'd managed to ruin things so quickly. Why didn't he ever think about what he was doing before he charged into it?   
"Maybe." Mulder sighed. "We can't let this... whatever it is affect our working relationship."   
Krycek laughed ruefully. "Whatever it is? That's a good question, Mulder. What is it? Are you sorry you spent the night?"   
"No, but I can't deal with that right now. You damn near got me fired."   
"You? Come on, Mulder. You've done a whole lot worse than forget to assign a liaison to your investigation. Skinner likes to yell, but he lets you get away with anything."   
"Maybe. I still don't like getting yelled at."   
Krycek sighed. "Mulder, if it had been anybody else but me on the case, would you have done the same thing?"   
Mulder shrugged. "I don't know." He shook his head. "Probably not. I don't know. You make me so crazy, I still don't know what I'm doing with you half the time."   
"Look, Mulder... maybe we did jump into this too fast. Things have been so horrible between us for so long—we don't even know how to act like normal people with each other."   
"We're going to have to learn."   
"Yeah. Let's just hope we don't have any more overlapping cases for a while."   
Finally, there was a slight smile from Mulder. "You're right. This whole thing was my fault as much as it was yours—almost," he corrected with a grin. "I should have talked to you in the beginning. I should have put you on the case."   
Krycek smiled back at him. "Let's just forget about it. I'm glad you're not mad any more. I've got to get going now, I just wanted to stop by and see how things were."   
"You're leaving?"   
Mulder's obvious disappointment was very gratifying. It was tempting to say to hell with the food and the apartment, and stay for at least a quickie before he had to go to work.   
But he'd just got done telling Mulder they were rushing things. Better to give them a little breathing space. Show Mulder he could use his head every once in a while, not just his hormones. "I'm doing midnight-to-six now, I've got to be at work in a couple of hours. And I have to get some groceries and the apartment's a mess. Why don't we plan on this weekend? We can talk. And whatever else comes to mind."   
Mulder laughed and pulled Krycek into his arms. "I'm looking forward to it."   
They kissed. _It's got to be a record,_ Krycek thought. _Two days and he's still here, despite my best efforts to ruin things. Maybe everything's going to work out all right this time after all. Maybe my luck has finally changed._   
But it wouldn't be luck that made things work, it would be hard work and paying attention and following the rules. He was hanging on by a thread, and it would still be so easy to lose everything. But right now, he had his job. He had Mulder in his arms.   
For Alex Krycek, that was as perfect as it got. 

* * *

Rated NC17 for explicit m/m sex.   
A DNA test sends Mulder on a quest to discover the truth about his sister, leading to a mysterious database and an old enemy. Follows "Anasazi."   
_The Best Lies_ is an amateur publication, and as such, is not meant to infringe upon the copyrights held by Fox TV, Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, or any other legally held copyrights in existence. All rights revert to the originators.   
Feedback: [email removed]   
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